In The Space Between
by DreamFlight
Summary: What if a post-NFA Spike found himself Illyria in tow back in Season 5? If two demon gods square off, and a certain vamp meets a souled future version of himself, just how might things change? Will be Spuffy.
1. Bitter Beginnings

_Picks up sometime post- Issue 3 of the Spike comics (aka post-Angel/ BtVS), then travels back in time to Buffy Season 5. _

_**In The Space Between**_

_**Chapter 1: Bitter Beginnings**_

Spike stared silently across the worn-out battleground this section of Los Angeles had become since that supposed final battle. His eyes were hard, shining with the trademark thirst for violence that had always been his. His body betrayed a certain hardness to it, a product of weeks or months, or maybe it had even been years by now, of the cruelty of this place. He cocked his head suddenly. There were demons nearby. And they were desperately in need of an ass kicking. They just, perhaps, didn't know it yet.

"Spike?" The voice behind him was soft, trembling in the stale air. "Spike, where are we? Why is it so cold?"

Spike sighed slowly, the hard shine of his eyes fading rapidly into a tired gaze that spoke of loss and frustration. The hardness drained slightly from his body, lending a decidedly worn out cast to his figure. He turned his head, "Fred." He said softly, his voice pained. "Of all the times…" He swung his gaze back around in time to see the first of a group of green-scaled demons round the corner of a slowly collapsing building. Grabbing Fred, he darted down an alleyway filled with rubble and dust. "Just be quiet, alright Love?" He murmured softly into her ear while pressing her into an alcove between a rusting dumpster and a mostly-intact wall. "Just stay here."

"And what'sss thisss?" A reptilian voice inquired from just behind Spike. "Tryingsss to protectsss your girlfriend?" The voice continued, its owner advancing steadily into the alleyway. "It'sss pointlessss." The evil snake-like voice spoke of petty victories in back-alleys, but also a certain pathetic desperation. The humans were beginning to either run out or wise up, and the world was suddenly becoming tougher again. There were few easy kills these days, and the thought of just one more had the scaly demon salivating already.

Spike turned slowly, letting a particularly menacing gaze creep across his features, even as he let his vampire features slip across his face. The green-scaled lizard demon looked slightly taken aback for the briefest of seconds as his dreams of an easy kill dissipated. "Vampiresss?" It commented, its long tongue flicking rapidly in and out of the air, tasting the molecules still suspended. "No… just the onesss." It concluded, "Andsss a tasssty meal." Its reptilian eyes blinked briefly, as it calculated the odds. Killing one vampire wasn't so difficult, if it meant an easy kill to follow. "Ssso, we fightsss for the girl?" It finished, its eyes growing wider as several of his fellow demons joined his side. Things were looking up. "The oddssss aren't in your favoursss."

Spike managed to control himself long enough to roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders. "So it won't be easy, mate," he began, throwing himself towards the lizard's companion on his left, "Just as well I've been itching for a spot of violence." His eyes glowed golden as he snapped the lesser demon's neck easily. He flashed the talkative leader a toothy smile. "S'no fun when the odds are even." The cocky show he put on was almost as old as he was, and he slipped into the role with ease, even as the weariness persisted just below the surface. He shrugged it back, one more fight for survival. One more notch on the old sword. Figuratively, of course. Only the ponce himself would walk around toting a sword.

No sooner had the lizard demon blinked than another of his companions was little more than a crumbled heap on the dirty ground. "My brothersss…" It hissed nastily as it threw himself at Spike, teeth and claws bared. Losing the kill had always been possible, but to lose his brothers, just when their numbers were dwindling already… "Getsss the girlsss." He tossed the order back to his remaining relation, spite and anger tangibly drifting off him. For long moment the second lizard stared at the wicked fight going on between his eldest brother and the vampire with the flashing golden eyes and black leather coat. Then his gaze fell upon the tiny brunette hiding as best she could in the back of the alleyway. A ruthless smile closed upon the lizard's face, revealing wickedly sharp teeth and a forked tongue that tasted the air just as his brother had earlier.

Fred backed into the small space as far as she could fit; fervently wishing that she had some sort of power… In the space between two moments, Fred was gone, replaced with Illyria. To be more accurate, the lingering conciousness that had once been Fred was pushed back down into the depths of cellular memory as the body's invader took active control. Humans proved to be a truly tenacious sort of conciousness that strove to continue to exist, the ancient demon god had discovered. Illyria truly appreciated the difficulties faced by her vampire companion on that front.

The approaching lizard blinked rapidly as the cowering girl stood up, suddenly clad in a red bodysuit, with blue locks drifting about her blue-tinged face. The scent of scared girl still hung in the air, but was rapidly being replaced with one of ancient and dark power and strength. The reptile stood frozen as his brother remained locked in battle with the vampire behind him. "So," the being before him said slowly, her eyes locking with his own, "You wish to eat me?" A short sharp laugh filled the air. "I've picked my teeth with the bones of more worthy opponents than you."

"Illyria!" Spike's voice cut out before the sound of the lead lizard's tail impacting with his chest halted his breath. Illyria watched disinterestedly as Spike pulled himself out of a pile of broken concrete. "A little help here?" He said finally, noticing her stare and the frozen lizard before her.

The demon goddess stared at Spike for a long moment. "Very well." She murmured, the disinterested look never leaving her face. Seconds later the frozen lizard would never move again and the lead lizard suddenly found himself caught between the vampire he thought he'd nearly bested and a being that smelt of stronger magic than he had ever tasted. And the corpses of his three brothers. A bitter sneer crossed his reptilian face as he hid the sharp sorrow of the loss from his opponents and muttered something just under his breath.

Very suddenly, he had disappeared. Along with the dust and the dirty alleyway and the tired battle ground of Los Angeles. Spike stared up at the stars and the darkened evening sky that had replaced the garish oranges and yellows he had grown used to. "Don't rightly think we're in Kansas anymore, Love." He muttered, thrusting a hand into his coat pocket instinctively, even as he remembered that he'd had no cigarettes for weeks upon weeks now. Gazing about the trees that surrounded him, Spike frowned, his forehead furrowing slightly. He took a deep breath of the still night air, something akin to familiarity tickling his senses. "It don't… it can't…"

"We were never in Kansas." Illyria replied, her voice icy. "We have, however, left the dimension we were residing in." She stared at her new surroundings with mild distain and began walking. "Come halfbreed." She commanded. "I am your priority."

Spike followed just a step or two behind, gazing at his surroundings as strange expressions flew across his face. "It's all familiar," He muttered darkly, "But it can't be." A worried expression finally settled across his features, "Blue, do you have any idea…" But the words died on his lips as a figure stepped directly into their path.

Spike stared for a long moment at the creature before him, who like him, seemed to be frozen in shock. "Bloody hell." The two blondes exclaimed, their identical accents drifting into the evening air as Illyria looked on, an expression of utter boredom across her blue-tinted face.


	2. You Cannot Quit Me So Quickly

_Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Spike or anyone else for that matter. I don't even own my titles - its from Dave Matthews Band "The Space Between_"

_**In The Space Between**_

_Spike followed just a step or two behind, gazing at his surroundings as strange expressions flew across his face. "It's all familiar," he muttered darkly, "But it can't be." A worried expression finally settled across his features, "Blue, do you have any idea…" But the words died on his lips as a figure stepped directly into their path. _

_Spike stared for a long moment at the creature before him, who like him, seemed to be frozen in shock. "Bloody hell!" the two blondes exclaimed, their identical accents drifting into the evening air as Illyria looked on, an expression of utter boredom across her blue-tinted face._

_**Chapter 2: You Cannot Quit Me So Quickly  
**_

"I don't… I don't understand…" A soft female voice interrupted the moment. "Spike, why are there two of you?" The voice was quivering now, rising in pitch. "What's going on?"

Spike's gaze fell from his double to the brunette at his side. "Dawn," he murmured softly, moving forward. "Nibblet," in an instant he was crushing her to him in a tight hug, "You're alright." It couldn't be real. To one moment be in the demonic wasteland of what had once been Los Angeles and the next to be in an apparently undestroyed Sunnydale with Dawn safe and… he pulled away for a moment, taking in her wide dark eyes and scared expression. And so young. He let her go, swallowing hard. She wasn't his Dawn. Not that he had any right to the Dawn he'd known either. As far as he knew she still hadn't forgiven him for what he had done... almost done.

"Who… who are you?" This Dawn said softly, stepping closer to the other Spike who was staring at him warily.

Spike stared at the pair for a long moment before turning to Illyria. "Blue, just _where_ the bloody hell are we?" His voice sounded heavy in his ears. Thick with something like disappointment or sorrow or maybe just regret.

Illyria stared at him with emotionless eyes. "Another dimension."

Spike stared at her incredulously, a spark of annoyance flashing through his eyes.

Dawn's tentative voice interrupted softly, "Can we just, maybe go see Buffy?" Her dark eyes had a haunted look behind them, as if something deeply important had just been overwhelmed.

Spike caught the tremor in her voice and gave her a studied look. He glanced from his double to Dawn, looking so young and vulnerable, but lacking the sadness that had surrounded her after the whole Glory-incident. He winced, realization settling upon him. "What year is it?" He said suddenly, his voice a little hoarse.

* * *

Buffy's house looked so familiar it made his unliving heart ache. Golden light streamed from its windows and it looked like a home. Spike sighed softly, just under his breath, as memories of his last days in Sunnydale swam to the surface. Trainee Slayers racing everywhere, preparing for a battle they had barely dreamed they might win. Buffy staring at him with her unreadable eyes, letting him hold her when it seemed possible the world might end. This was before all that. Long before all that.

"Don't suppose the Bronze is still serving bloomin' onions?" Spike said suddenly, the impertinent whim making its way to his mouth before he could set any filters on it.

He watched his double turn dark eyes onto him. A look of suspicious incredulity passed through them. "The Bronze is closed right now. Repairs." Was his terse reply.

Spike stared at his double for a long moment, suddenly hoping to drag out the moments before he had to face Buffy again (after just how long? He'd lost count this time.). "Didn't happen to be 'cause of a troll?" he asked softly, an amused look passing across his features.

The suspicion in his double's eyes increased. "How'd you know that?" he muttered, as the young Dawn inched closer to him, something akin to fear and confusion rising in her eyes.

A sad smile drifted across Spike's tight lips. At least he finally knew _when_ he was.

The door to the Summers's home opened slowly in response to his double's knock, silhouettes moving across the golden glow from the windows at an almost leisurely pace. The golden glow of the light reflected off the loose curls of the woman who opened the door, a dish towel held loosely in one of her hands, as she half turned to reply to someone's question before she directed her attention to those on the other side of her doorstep.

"Joyce," Spike murmured weakly, his voice cracking. He hadn't even considered the possibility. The Slayer's mum, alive and well. Well, alive at any rate. Knowing what he knew, he could make out the tiredness around her eyes, the slight furrow of her brow, and the paleness of her skin. How had he ever missed it before? The next thought to cross his mind, in the moments before anyone said anything, was how exactly he could save her this time around.

* * *

"OK, run this by me again." The young man's voice was as grating to his ears as it had ever been. "Spike was… walking with Dawn, and bumped into… Spike from the future," he raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Spike, "and his new skanky girlfriend." Xander craned his neck around the room, "Did I get this right?"

"Negative." Came the terse reply from just behind Spike, where he sat stiffly on a straight-backed chair from the dining room. Illyria had refused a seat, choosing instead to stand just behind Spike's seated form, bristling with defiance and disinterest. "The vampire is mine. I am not his."

"Thanks Blue," he murmured wearily, "Couldn't have gone without that distinction." He was walking on thin ice, taking a shot at Illyria, but anything he said to anyone else in the room was likely to come out in a pathetic sputter or tears. The concerned gaze of Tara watching him from just behind the shadow of her long hair, Anya's frank stare as she spouted off suggestions on how to test the veracity of his explanations, Joyce hovering in the background. There was a fountain of disbelief under his skin that just kept bubbling every time he looked around the room. This was the Scooby gang, whole, unharmed, blissfully ignorant of what would become of them.

"He's too quiet." Buffy was the one to interrupt the growing span of silence that had suddenly engulfed the room. She was staring at him intently, her face a mask. It made him alternate between joy and an aching sorrow born of loss. It was all just too much. "Spike never shuts up."

"Oi!" His double exclaimed from where he was lounging in the doorway of the room. "Its not my fault I'm the only one who ever has any bloody useful information."

"Shut up Spike," was Buffy's automatic reply. "Remind me again why I'm not staking you for taking my baby sister for an evening stroll?"

"S'not my fault the Slayer's sister decides to run off. Should be thanking me, Slayer, for keeping her from being demon lunchmeat." Spike watched his double's eyes flash. Not the way to her heart, mate, he thought silently.

He let his gaze fall back to Buffy, who was once again staring at him as if she could make him spout whatever it was she wanted to hear by drilling holes into him with her eyes. "One more time," she said slowly, "Who are you and why are you here?"

Spike sighed. "I'm Spike. William the Bloody." He paused, pointed at his double, "That guy, in a few extra years, and a stint in a demon dimension." He was tired. And sick of answering this particular question.

"And your girlfriend?" Buffy prompted.

"Not my girlfriend, as Blue so pointedly stated." He replied drily. He motioned behind him, "Illyria, demon god, inhabiting body of former Fred. Who's probably not former at this point. Unless your dimension is incredibly different from the one I lived this particular chunk of history in."

The room was silent again, interrupted only by Xander's squirming and Giles polishing his glasses. Spike took the moment to look around the room, noticing Dawn's absence. She was smart, he found himself thinking, escaping the Inquisition. Except she had been the one to suggest bringing this to Buffy. Any other girl, Spike would have let this train of thought slide, but he knew his Nibblet, and she wasn't one to voluntarily miss out on Scooby Slaying action. He found his gaze wandering to the staircase, which was mostly hidden from his view by the angle of the wall, and his slouching double.

"Just where were you and Dawn?" He asked suddenly, his attention suddenly focussed, as a sharp realization flew across his mind, memories niggling at his soul.

"_What's the dumbest thing you've ever done?" Dawn asked him, gazing at him over the top of a sundae balanced precariously on one of her knees as they sat watching a made-for-TV movie in the living room. _

"_Don't reckon I could choose just one." He'd replied with a cocky smile, trying too hard perhaps to keep the mood bright, when the loss of Buffy was still a sharp pain in his gut._

_He watched Dawn stare studiously at her sundae. "I can." She'd said softly. "When I found out about the whole Key-thing, after you brought me home, I…" Her voice had crumbled. "I cut myself." She'd shaken her head then, her eyes lifting to meet his, unshed tears shining. "If I'd known then… that all it was going to take was a few drops… I lost more than that, that night." Her voice had cracked then, and Spike had pulled her into an awkward hug. _

"_Shush now, it's alright. Buffy wouldn't want you to be thinking 'bout this kinda thing now…" _

He watched his double shift beneath his gaze. "Just around."

"Around the Magic Shop?" He pressed.

That suspicious glow was shining from his double's eyes again. "Maybe." He admitted, gruffly.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, flying from his chair and out of the room, his footsteps falling heavily on the stairs as he hoped that he could at least prevent one painful memory from ever existing.


	3. There's No Hope in You For Me

_**In The Space Between**_

"_Around the Magic Shop?" He pressed._

_That suspicious glow was shining from his double's eyes again. "Maybe." He admitted, gruffly._

"_Bloody hell," Spike muttered, flying from his chair and out of the room, his footsteps falling heavily on the stairs as he hoped that he could at least prevent one painful memory from ever existing._

_**Chapter 3: There's No Hope in You For Me **_

"Dawn," Spike's voice was little more than a gasp as he threw himself through her open doorway. The teenage girl sat cross-legged on her bed, a kitchen knife resting before her on her comforter, tentative fingers tracing the handle. "Don't." His voice was choked, foreign to his own ears.

"Am I even real?" Dawn's voice was small and childlike as she lifted her tear-stained face to stare at him. "You're supposed to be from the future, right?" Her voice caught in her throat as she swallowed a sob, "Am I real?"

Spike swallowed hard, a faint tremor running through him as the enormity of the moment washed over him. He could change things, a triumphant voice screamed within. "As real as people get, pigeon," he said softly, making his way across her room to perch on the side of bed.

"Are you sure?" she sniffled, rubbing her sleeve across her face.

"Do you feel real, pet?" Spike murmured softly.

She stared at him with a look that questioned his sanity. "Of course I feel real. Isn't that the whole point of giving me memories? Giving everyone memories?"

Spike smiled, his heart breaking for her. Why had he never stuck around last time? "If you feel real then you are real. It's as simple as that, ducks." He reached out to push a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Your mum and Buffy love you very much. More than anything else in the world."

Dawn snorted in response. "Buffy doesn't care about me. More like cares about anything else more than me."

Spike clucked his tongue. "S'not true. I've seen it. She might not act it, but your sister is willing to give her life for you. Willing to let the world end for you." A sadness bloomed in his eyes. "Slayer's just not so good with showing her emotions."

Dawn was staring as him with suspicion in her big round eyes. "She'd die for me?"

Spike smiled bitterly. "It just happens she would. I've seen it, Bit."

"How do I know you're not just lying to make me feel better?" she demanded petulantly, her fingertips abandoning the knife that still sat before her.

"Because I would." Buffy stood in the doorway, an unreadable emotion in her eyes. "You're my sister, Dawn."

Spike let his gaze follow Dawn's toward the doorway, momentarily pausing on the knife. As Buffy walked toward them, he slowly lifted the knife and tucked it away in the pocket of his duster. No need for the evidence of what might have been to lie in plain sight.

"I'm not real!" Dawn exclaimed, her frustration evident. "I'm some sort of key. I don't even know what that means. What I open!"

"The door between dimensions." Spike murmured softly, pulling the attention of the two sisters towards himself. For a moment he looked thoughtful, "There's a lot I got to tell you, Slayer." His eyes burned in the artificial light of Dawn's bedroom. "I lot I think you need to know. Both of you."

* * *

Buffy stood in her mother's kitchen, her hand loosely holding the glass she had just filled from the tap. She stared into the water, absentmindedly swirling it before taking a long sip. In the kitchen window, the first traces of pink were illuminating the sky and Buffy wondered if she had ever experienced such a long night in her life. All the battles she had been through had not prepared her for this. One long night of some sort of insane emotional rollercoaster.

First the discovery of Spike's double from the future and his skanky demon god… whatever. Then the thing with Dawn. Then everything Spike's double had told them about their future. Or at least what had been his future. Or past. Or whatever. Buffy lifted her other hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. It was as if a nasty headache was about to explode behind her eyes, but refused to get beyond the gathering storm phase. She didn't know what to believe.

Future Spike obviously knew things. She had seen the knife he had lifted off her sister's bed. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. The race up the stairs, the talk with Dawn, the sudden revelations about the future. He was trying to keep bad things from happening. God only knew what Dawn had done with that knife in his timeline.

But that was the sticky point. Why was future Spike so eager to keep bad things from happening? Why was he so eager to be helpful, but at the same time so sad? Why did every look at his eyes make her think he was keeping things back from them all?

"You okay, pet?" It was Spike's voice behind her. It was lower than she had ever heard it, making her guess that it was the future Spike who was talking to her. Besides which, she was certain she could still hear Spike making annoying comments in the other room where her friends and family sat still trying to make sense of everything.

"Why do you care?" She whispered, sensing his approach closer to her. "What are you leaving out of what you're telling us?"

"'Bout everything that happens after the night you defeat Glory."

"Why?" She heard herself asking, without turning around. "What happens after that's so bad that you can't tell us about it too? What makes you end up in a demon dimension?" She could feel her shoulders stiffening, tensing up as he continued his approach towards her.

"They aren't related," his voice was hoarse, "If that's what's worryin' you, Slayer." She could feel him directly behind her now, his unnecessary breath echoing in her ears. "You don't lose the battle. None of them."

"Then why aren't you telling me the rest of it?" Buffy couldn't figure out why her voice was coming out as little more than a breathy whisper.

"Cause if I have any say in it, none of its goin' to happen this time 'round."

Something in his voice made Buffy spin on her heel to face him. He was closer than she had thought he was. Only a few inches separated his body from hers and for a brief moment Buffy was surprised to find herself staring awestruck at his eyes. Had they always been so expressive? Had they always said… what she suddenly was seeing? "Why do you care?" her voice cracked, knowing the answer already. Knowing it because if she was honest with herself, there was nothing else the glances he had been giving her all night could mean. In off moments he had stared at her just as he was staring now: like a man drowning, or a man saved; as if she were the centre of his universe. No one had ever looked at her like that.

"You know why," he murmured, one hand rising to trace the side of her face. "And you don't want to hear it. Not really." His hand fell to his side. "So I won't say it." There was a short pause. "Sorry for wrecking your party, pet." He retreated then, out of the darkened kitchen and back to the living room. Buffy exhaled slowly, wondering dimly why she was trembling, and why she hadn't been repulsed by his touch. This was still Spike. Wasn't it?

* * *

"I tire of this repetition." Illyria's voice was flat.

"I actually second that ," Xander's voice was tired and bewildered. "I mean, c'mon guys, its like, six in the morning."

"I believe you may be missing the gravity of this situation," Giles' spoke suddenly. "If what Spike is telling us…"

"Oi! I'm Spike. This… this… you!" The Spike belonging to the dimension interrupted, pointing at Spike, "Are goin' to have to come up with your own…"

"Then call me William," Spike said drily, "I really don't care."

"Are you sure you're me?" The other Spike muttered darkly.

Spike sighed. As urgent as this had all seemed last night, he now found himself questioning his wisdom. As per usual, he had jumped the gun and spilt more of the beans than he'd meant to at first, barely stopping his nattering before Buffy's death in his narrative. There was no need to bring them more pain than necessary. And the story of what was to come was little more than a tale of pain becoming more painful.

"Giles, I think Xander has a point." Buffy sounded exhausted. Spike found himself gazing at her again, weighing the emotional toll of this night on her. She was so beautiful, in this here and now. The things being near her earlier that morning in the kitchen had done to him. She could never understand what just seeing her was doing to him. To touch her without her turning away in disgust or fear or looking as if the world was eating her alive. It was criminal. It was heaven. He'd die now if it would keep her from living the life he had seen her live. If he could know that the Spike in this dimension wouldn't bollocks things with her so badly as he had. Though from the way he was glowering at him from the corner, he found himself doubting that possibility.

"We're all tired." Spike watched her gaze flow over her friends to Dawn and her mother, who looked as emotionally worn as Buffy did. Hearing that Joyce's death was a very real possibility probably hadn't been the easiest thing to hear. Nor the fact that they were up against a hell god. "We should all go home, get some rest, digest the information. Get mom to a hospital." Her voice trembled on that last one.

"Right then." Spike eyed his younger self warily, waiting for him (himself?) to stick his foot in his mouth. "Guess I'm off then. Oh wait, you lot have dragged this on so long the sun's come up."

"I'm not entirely sure why you've stuck around for it then." Buffy's voice was icy.

Spike snorted, "It's my bloody future self giving away the game, ain't it?"

"Which makes me wonder why we need you at all." Buffy replied sweetly.

Spike wasn't sure how to describe the situation playing out in front of him. It was just another one of their nasty back-and-forths, but here he was sitting and watching it. And every one of her barbs was still stinging him. Even if it wasn't exactly him who was supposed to be getting hit with them.

"Charming." Illyria said from behind him. "I cannot understand why you would burden yourself with a soul for her."

Dimly, Spike wondered if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Everyone who only moments before had looked ready to drift off into dreamland was suddenly staring at him, eyes big as saucers. He caught the wide eyes of his younger self, the fish-like gape of his mouth, before his face turned cold and closed up. The peaked interest in Joyce's eyes, the shocked expression on the Scoobies' faces, and the Watcher, too surprised to even clean his glasses. He saw Buffy. Her bright green eyes turning to catch his. He watched her run through emotions: disbelief, understanding, fear. The long silent moment seemed to stretch, broken only by the sudden slam of the door. His younger self's exit.

It was Buffy who finally broke the silence. "You have a soul?"

"Like Angel?" breathed Willow.

Spike felt something within him growing taut, readying itself to snap. Only his exhaustion had kept him from exploding simply at the sound of the great poof's name. "Not like Angel." His voice was icy. "Mine's not some bloody stupid curse with strings and loopholes. Won mine back proper like. Wanker wouldn't go do that now, would he?"

"You _won_ your soul?" Giles interrupted, his face a mask of disbelief. "This is… unheard of. A vampire actively seeking his soul…"

Spike growled in the back of his throat. "Its not bloody important."

"I beg to differ," Giles began, "If what you say is true…"

"Of course its true," he snarled.

"But… for… why… Buffy?" Xander's voice cracked as he stumbled to process the full meaning of Illyria's statement. "She said you got your soul for Buffy. Why would you get your soul for Buffy?" He was staring between the two of them, something akin to growing horror in his eyes. "Don't tell me Buffy gets involved with… you?"

Spike wasn't sure if he felt more like staking himself, Illyria, or the Whelp at that moment. He kept his eyes down on the floor, unwilling to meet Buffy's. "I got it because I wanted to," he spat from between gritted teeth, "So I wouldn't hurt people just 'cause I didn't know the difference…" His eyes had worked their way back up, unconsciously searching out Buffy's. "'Cause I didn't know right from wrong. Didn't want to hurt…" he swallowed hard. Here he was again, giving away too much of the game.

Her eyes were still wide, her lips moving ever so slightly in the shape of his name. "But… you hate me." She murmured softly. "I mean, you hate me now. Or… the you who is now."

Spike laughed. Low and bitter. "You really believe that, love? You really believe the Spike you know haunts your doorstep just 'cause he's got no one else to bother? Think he can't go fight the uglies all on his own?" There. There was the rising horror in her eyes. That much was familiar.

"Spike's in love with Buffy?" Willow whispered, a cross between horror and confusion in her voice.

"Can I… can I talk to you?" Buffy was saying; sputtering really, "In… in the kitchen? Away… away?"

He followed her mutely back into the kitchen, his eyes landing angrily on Illyria who was currently observing her fingernails. Her eyes met his dispassionately. "They fail at absorbing new information," she told him. Guiltless.

In the kitchen, Buffy retreated back to the sink, resuming her pose from earlier, as if unable to face him. "You… you get a soul for me?" She asked softly. "Because you love me?"

"Because I hurt you." He replied flatly. There was no use hiding it, was there? No matter what time or dimension he landed in the outcome would always be the same. She was the Slayer, he was a demon. He was unworthy of her love. He was destined to forever pine after it. She was destined to forever withhold it.

"Hurt me." She echoed, her head falling. He ached to touch her. To pull back the hair that even now was slipping forward to screen her face. To run his fingers through the spun gold and copper strands. "Spike," she began, turning slowly to face him, "Do we… are we… in your time?"

"No," he answered her simply. "You don't love me." Her eyes were shining in the morning light that was filtering in through the kitchen curtains and blinds. "No epic love story here. You can save your heart for Peaches. Don't worry your little head about it."

"You aren't telling me something." She replied, her eyes clear as she stepped closer to him, within inches of him. "What aren't you telling me?"

"I told you before, Slayer, nothing I plan on happening again this time 'round." He couldn't comprehend the blank expression she wore in response to his statement. Shouldn't the bint be happy that he wasn't going to hassle and harass her over it? If she knew the truth of it all, she'd just hate him more. Hate herself. Pain she didn't need to shoulder. Pain he wasn't going to let her feel.

It was in that moment that Spike saw with perfect clarity what he would have to do. What needed to be done to save her. To save all of them. He'd stop Glory. And then he'd disappear. Both of him.


	4. No Corner You Could Squeeze Me

_**In The Space Between**_

Hey folks! First off, a huge thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing! I love reviews… they bring a little sunshine to my day. That said, I want to give everyone a severe angst warning. I've had a lot of reviewers angling for happy endings for everyone and I'm afraid that just isn't in the cards (not yet anyway… I'm a sucker for happy endings). So yes… be prepared for angst and possible character death. It's all part of the master plan.

_It was in that moment that Spike saw with perfect clarity what he would have to do. What needed to be done to save her. To save all of them. He'd stop Glory. And then he'd disappear. Both of him. _

_**Chapter 4: No Corner You Could Squeeze Me **_

"So Ben is Glory?" Xander asked, his face earnest in his attempt to overcome the magic masking the shared identity.

"Wait, y-you're s-saying Ben knows G-Glory?" Tara added, her forehead wrinkled slightly in concentration.

Spike sighed and shook his head. They had been through this that first night and had run into these same difficulties then. Spike recalled how difficult it had been the first time around. This time it seemed all the more annoying, as it was bound to come up multiple times before the problem was actually dealt with. First things had come first, and even now they all sat gathered in the waiting room at the hospital.

It had taken several days to convince Joyce to fake a headache in order to get another round of tests done. The doctors had taken things surprisingly seriously and it had been the sight of Ben in the hospital hallways that had triggered this new round of incomprehension. Spike found himself staring dully around the waiting room at the assembled Scoobies. Anya sat idly thumbing through an old magazine, her head resting on Xander's shoulder. Tara and Willow sat hand in hand. Dawn was asleep against Buffy's shoulder, still reeling from the discovery of her "key-ness". It wasn't a moment that any of them would have held precious, but Spike found himself preserving it in his heart, even as he felt it breaking under the weight of their painful futures. He wouldn't be able to keep the Whelp from leaving Anya at the altar. He wouldn't necessarily be able to keep Tara alive. Unless he tracked down the trio of geekdom and instilled a healthy fear of evil in them now. Actually, that was doable.

He shifted uncomfortably. Illyria had had one of her episodes that morning. The Summers family had been eating breakfast and suddenly Illyria had ceased to be Illyria and had instead become Fred. The confusion caused by this had him bolting from the makeshift bed he was using in the basement (Joyce's idea, of course) to Fred's side in a matter of moments.

"_I don't understand. Where are we?" She had asked, her lower lip trembling slightly. _

"_Shhh, its alright," he'd murmured softly, patiently ignoring the stunned looks of the Summer's women. "We're in the Slayer's house_. _We're safe here." He'd held her for a long time before she had stopped trembling._

"_I had the most terrible dream," she whispered. _

"_It's alright," he had murmured, his heart breaking for the girl who wasn't really there at all, "You're safe now."_

"_I'm so tired. Why am I tired?" She had asked. How was she to know that Illyria never slept?_

Even now she was sleeping in the Slayer's guest room. Tucked carefully between lavender sheets. He wasn't sure he felt comfortable leaving her there alone. But he had needed to be here for Joyce. He needed to be in too many places. He needed to be nowhere.

"_I get it now." Buffy's voice was soft. She had waited for him to close the door to the bedroom slowly and silently before speaking. "You love her."_

_He had stared at her for a long moment, stricken. Did she really believe that? "It's not like that," he began. "Fred… Fred was the only one who was decent to me when I… well lets just say I barely existed at all for awhile. She was the one who tried to bring me back. The only one. She cared." He paused, taking in Buffy's expression. It was the one she used for listening. How often had he ever seen her wear that one around him? "It wasn't long after that Illyria took over her body." He gestured at the bedroom door. "That's not Fred. Not really. It's an echo. A memory in the cells of her body. Nothing more than that, not really. I just… I can't leave her when she's like that. Helpless. Lost." It frustrated him, and he was certain that his tone carried that frustration in it, "She deserved better."_

"_And Illyria?"_

_He sighed. How could he explain that? "I think I'm her pet," he admitted suddenly, his expression one of chagrin. At least she had smiled a bit at that. Would she believe that for a time he had been her pet vampire?_

Spike shook his head to clear the memories. He spent so much of his time living in the past now. The future past mostly. Or maybe it ought to be the past future? He'd never been great with metaphysics. And Fred had been the girl for the real physics of it all.

"Wanna get a soda with me?" Buffy's voice was quiet. Spike looked up, suddenly realizing that he was the only one besides her who was still awake. "I think the doctors forgot that we're all here. It's been a really long time. Last time they kicked us out by now… told us to go home and sleep." He watched her chew on her lower lip for a moment. "I'm worried," she confided, her eyelashes brushing across her cheek.

"Yeah," he replied, "I'll come with you." He didn't miss the flash of gratitude in her eyes.

* * *

She wasn't sure what it was that had her spending time with Spike. Future-Spike, she meant. The real Spike had disappeared after that moment in the living room when the truth about future-Spike's soul had come out. No one had seen him since then, which didn't worry her any, but seemed to be giving future-Spike the wiggins. She could sortof understand why. It must be weird to have to see a younger version of yourself, and then wonder what it was doing.

"Your mum is going to be okay," he interrupted her train of thought.

"You don't know that," she smiled sadly. "You're just winging this now, aren't you?"

She watched him nod, that funny little smile on his face again. Like that morning when they had been talking about Fred. It was as if there was something different about this Spike, something shy and sad and earnest. He lacked the bluster of the Spike she knew.

"Slayer," he said softly, catching her off-guard with those strangely piercing eyes of his, as if he was seeing more of her than even she knew about, "Why are you treating me different?"

"Different?" she was confused for a second, "Different to what?"

"Different to how you treat the me you know?" he prompted.

"Oh," Buffy exclaimed. "Isn't that kinda obvious? I mean, you have a soul."

"Uh huh." Why didn't he sound convinced?

"The other you… kinda still soulless. You know? Evil? Bad?" He was looking at her with those sad eyes now. Somewhere inside her she felt something twinge. She was missing the brightness of his eyes. He wasn't supposed to be so sad. She was certain of it. But that was probably the soul. Atoning for his past. All that stuff Angel had tried to convey to her. Nuances lost.

"You really do believe the soul makes that big a difference, don't you?" Was that… pity in his eyes?

"Yeah, that's kinda how it works," she was confused now, "Isn't it?" There was uncertainty in her voice. Why was there uncertainty in her voice? If it wasn't how it worked… didn't that just make her…

"I don't know," his reply was soft. "The soul brought guilt with it. A conscience. But the things that came from your mouth didn't hurt any more or less with or without the soul."

Buffy stood still, her mouth falling open, "Wait. The things I say… they… hurt?"

"Meant to, aren't they, Slayer?" he was smiling at her. That sad smile again. She was starting to get really annoyed with that sad knowing gig he was pulling. "Do us a favour," he said suddenly, turning away to avoid facing her, "Next time my morality comes into question, just end it. Don't hesitate with the stake, love. It's nothing I don't deserve. And I'm speaking for this dimension's Spike too. Though he won't like it."

Buffy stood slack-jawed as Spike walked in front of her, leaving her where she was standing. Suddenly she remembered their conversation at the Bronze. Death. She made it with her hands, he had said. "Part of you wants it," she whispered under her breath, watching him stalk down the hallway, his duster spreading out like a cape, or pitch black wings. She swallowed hard, "Just like me."

* * *

"Vampire?" Illyria's voice echoed through the house. Empty. It was entirely empty. No humanity to fill it with its awful stench and noise. But also no vampire. She was disappointed. But then again, she had known that she would come second to the Vampire Slayer. He may have been her pet, but he had been someone else's slave before that. Bound then by love rather than duty and loyalty. Love was stronger than any of the other emotions among lesser beings. Amusing or not, the vampire was still a lesser being. And Illyria could sense that somewhere out in the night in this insignificant town, was another being not unlike herself. It was time to find them.

"And mauve? Mauve?" a high-pitched voice was screeching. "Do you scabby little minions really believe blue and mauve go _together_?" There was a tangible pause where one could hear a faint scrabbling sound. A dramatic sigh punctuated the air, "I need _brains_ to deal with this level of incompetence."

"Of course your most perfectionate, supreme…"

"Shut up. And get me something to sink my fingers into. And a new red dress. My old one got all stretched out by stupid Ben."

Illyria moved closer to the voice, rounding a corner in the empty condominium to discover a lavishly decorated suite, and the blonde figure lounging in the centre of it, making demands and simply oozing the electric field of power.

"Wait." The blonde said suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "I feel…" her eyes raced across the room, homing in on Illyria. "You have power," she said, with a tilt of her head and an appreciative tone in her voice. "Who are you?"

Illyria raised an eyebrow artfully. "Have you forgotten so much, Glorificus?" She strode into the suite, the blonde hell god's eyes focused on her. "Of course, you wouldn't recognize me in this form." She let a terse smile crease her body's features, "But then you know all about time-sharing too."

"Huh. And I thought I was the only god chilling around these parts." Glory looked thoughtful, "What exactly are you planning? Cause I got big plans for this little hellhole."

Illyria cast her a condescending glance. "You reek of humanity. Surrounding yourself with the spoils and distractions of human kind." Her eyes hardened, "You're doomed to fail. Can't you see that much?"

She watched the blonde waver between rising to the bait and deflating, finally settling on the non-reaction of chilly denial as she settled back down onto her chaise lounge. "I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, really, red bodysuit? Like you know how to make an impression."

Illyria stalked around the suite, her eyes impatiently flickering between the view of Sunnydale provided by the windows and the grey-skinned minions who hovered anxiously in the corners of the suite. "Do you know how to suppress the human you time share with?" Illyria asked suddenly, her face betraying no real interest in Glory's answer.

"No," the blonde spat in reply, "More's the pity. I could accomplish so much more without gentle Ben taking control whenever I…"

"So I feared." Illyria cut the hell god off. "You have little real power in this dimension."

"Hey! I take offense to that, Miss Holier-Than-Thou. You still haven't said who you're supposed to be!" Glory was standing again, her human face betraying more hurt and anger than a god should really express.

Illyria stared at her expressionlessly. "I am Illyria."

The blonde sat back down with a small gasp. "Oh. I… I'm sorry. I didn't realize. One of the old ones." There was a pause as the hell god stared around the room in search of a minion. "You!" she exclaimed, one manicured finger pointing, "Go get our guest something to slake her thirst."

"No need," Illyria added with a cold smile, "I don't require humans for my power." She relished the hell god's look of disbelief. It felt good to be accorded proper respect again.

* * *

"She's not here." Spike's voice was oddly calm, as far as Buffy could tell for having lost his demon god. "Bloody hell. Should've known she'd head off…"

Buffy found herself staring after him with mixed emotions. Dawn was upstairs helping their mother into bed. Apparently it would take a few days for the tests to be fully analyzed, but the doctors felt as if something had been caught in time. They were planning to go back in. She felt like she should be with her mother, but something in Spike's hunched shoulders was holding her captive. Her earlier realization at the hospital that this Spike had… well, some sort of death wish was leaving her feeling a little lost and off-balance. Spike had always bubbled over with vibrant life and ferocity. Seeing him somehow so diminished, so worn out – it was doing strange things to her insides. As if the entire world was tilting off balance.

"I should go out an' look for her." His voice was tired, "There's still a few hours before the sun comes up."

"I'll look too," Buffy heard herself echo softly. "Better if there's two of us looking than just one. More likely to find her, right?"

The look in his eyes was tearing at her. A gratefulness that shouldn't be there. She missed his sharp quips and his snarkiness. Where was the Spike she knew? Was he even still in this shell of a man… vamp…. vampire. Buffy shook her head. If future-Spike didn't stop acting like this she was going to start getting a real headache keeping reality straight.

* * *

She took the cemeteries. It seemed like the natural thing to do. Everything was quiet and still as she strode swiftly through the grassy areas and the tombstones. There was a certain peace to these pre-dawn hours, when the dew coated the grass and the stars shone brightly, as if making their last stand. She was tired.

"Slayer." Came the calm, clipped tones of the vampire she hadn't been hoping to see.

"Spike." She nodded at the black silhouette lounging against the side of a mausoleum. She heard the soft click of a lighter and watched the tiny orange flame illuminate the angles of his face as he lit a cigarette. The lit end bobbed in the shadows and Buffy found herself drawn towards him with an odd fascination. How did a vampire like Spike handle the news that in a few years he'd be getting a soul? Asking for one, no less?

"Where's soul-boy?" Came the gruff question. "Surprised you're not palin' it up. Ain't that what you do? Milk the souled undead for information?"

She wasn't sure what she had expected. "You're a pig, Spike." She muttered under her breath.

"Oh ho, so that's how it is then, is it?" He was leaning up now, close enough to be conspiratory. "I saw the way he looked at you. You just soaked it right up, didn't you? Not good enough when its coming from me, but add a soul and…"

"Are you in love with me?" The words had flown from her mouth before she realized they had even crossed her mind.

His expression went blank. Then black with rage. "That… bloody… wanker… hell…" he was suddenly headed in the other direction, his heavy boots stomping away from her, the tiny embers of his cigarette a shooting star in the darkness as he flung it away.

"Are you?" Her voice was small. She was afraid of the answer. Afraid because she already knew what it would be. Afraid because she was suddenly understanding the future-Spike. The look in his eyes. The strange sadness. She found herself wondering if she had ever even given him the time of day.

"Guess if the future me said it, it must be true. Right, Slayer? Said 'e got 'is soul for you." He was still facing away from her, but he had stopped moving away.

Buffy found her feet moving to his side. "After you left," she heard herself saying, as if from far away, "He said he got it because he hurt me. Because he couldn't tell right from wrong."

"Hurt you?" He was turning to face her now, his face a mask of shadows. "You really think I could hurt you, Slayer?"

"What am I supposed to believe?" She asked him softly, wondering where the sudden sympathy that was welling up from within her came from. This was _Spike_. Horrible, piggish, nasty, unsouled Spike.

"Whatever you want, Slayer." Spike muttered, turning away from her, and leaving her alone in the midst of the tombstones. Surrounded by dead things. Buffy shivered. When was it she had started to think of Spike as other than dead?


	5. But I Got All The Time For You, Love

_**In The Space Between**_

Heh… so while I'm currently updating this story like a fiend, don't get too used to it folks… my grad program starts next week and I don't know about the workload, so no promises on the update speed then. My muse is just finally churning out ideas for this one.

"_What am I supposed to believe?" She asked him softly, wondering where the sudden sympathy was welling up from within her. This was Spike. Horrible, piggish, nasty, unsouled Spike. _

"_Whatever you want, Slayer." Spike muttered, turning away from her, and leaving her alone in the midst of the tombstones. Surrounded by dead things. Buffy shivered. __When was it she had started to think of Spike as other than dead?_

_**Chapter 5: But I Got All the Time For You, Love**_

"Spike! Wait!" Buffy cried to the receding figure, chasing after the vampire. She came to a stop a few feet from where he had paused. "Listen, if you see that demon god Illyria person… just let me know, ok?"

"Guess I should be thankful you didn't ask me to wait 'cause you wanted to stake me." He was muttering under his breath again, seemingly ready to curse her out at a moment's notice.

Buffy deflated, "Would you listen to yourself? If I was going to stake you, don't you think I'd have done it by now?" Her voice sounded tired. "If you were a threat…"

"But isn't that what you just accused me of being?" He was staring at her now, his blue eyes piercing her, demanding answers she wasn't sure she had.

"No, I… I just told you what he said. Doesn't mean…. It doesn't mean anything." Buffy felt her frustration rising. Why was it that every conversation she had with Spike seemed to have double meanings these days? Ever since the trouble with Riley… or no, it was before that. When had things gotten so complicated? "I'm tired, ok? I'm just not thinking straight. And with mom…" she swallowed hard, a lump rising in her throat. "I just… in another world I walk in to see her dead in a week or two. I just found out I'm up against not just a hell god, but one who wants to use my sister to open the door to a bunch of dimensions and on top of it, I've got a missing demon god and a mopey souled version of you kicking around my house."

"He mopes?" Spike looked at her askance. "And you still think it's really me?"

Buffy spared him a small smile. "He's not brooding. If that's what you're thinking."

Which prompted a snort in response. "Bloody read my mind, Slayer." Buffy watched him light a fresh cigarette, placing it lightly between his lips. "What?" he added gruffly, as he caught her staring at him.

"I just…" Buffy paused, suddenly uncertain why she was staring at Spike at all, "You shouldn't smoke."

"Not gonna give me cancer," he replied around the cigarette as he began to walk once more.

"No, but second hand is worse, you know." She replied, settling into a gentle stroll beside him.

"Didn't ask for your company, Slayer."

"No, but apparently you're in love with me, so shouldn't you be grateful I'm walking with you?"

He stared at her for that one. "Never gonna let this one go, are you?" He raised an eyebrow.

Buffy smiled weakly in reply, her stomach churning, "So it is true then?"

She watched him duck his head, looking away for a long moment, though he kept walking alongside her. "S'like this," he began finally, "S'not something I asked for, to feel like this, about you. But… its like I'm drowning in you, Summers." He was looking at her now, his blue eyes trained on her face, waiting for a response. Her feet suddenly felt as if they had been glued to the ground. He was turning now, facing her, his hands suddenly wrapping themselves around hers. Cold. Though not so much colder than her own really. "You're…"

"Stop," she choked out finally, "Don't do this, Spike. Please. I just… I can't handle this right now." She began to pull her hands away, out of his grasp, only to have him pull them back, pulling her in closer.

"No, you stop, Summers." His eyes were dark, fathomless, "Stop fighting me. Stop fighting this. You feel it too." He punctuated his statement with another pull, forcing a ragged gasp from Buffy's lips. "I love you." He paused for a moment, searching her eyes for something she wasn't sure she had, though a strange fear was rising in her gut. _"Didn't want to hurt…"_ the future-Spike had begun in the living room, his haunted eyes telling Buffy that she was the one he was afraid of hurting.

"Spike," she murmured, "Stop. Please. Whatever you feel, whatever you think you feel, it's not real." She wished she could stop the words from escaping her, even as she said them, for anger was rising in his eyes with every word. "You can't love without a soul," she whispered.

"Cause you're the expert on that," he spat, releasing her so suddenly she almost stumbled forward.

"I…" What could she say? Did she even know really? What if he could love? What if his loving her was the reason he got a soul? Only… only why then wasn't the souled Spike giving her the same speech? Lost in a maze of confusion, Buffy latched onto the one thing she understood. "You know he said to stake you if I ever questioned your," she searched for the word he had used, "morality."

"Generous of him," Spike jeered.

"I think he meant for him too," she added, concern unwillingly writing itself across her face.

"Go to hell, Summers," was all she got before he disappeared into the night. This time, she let him, wishing she hadn't just made things worse.

* * *

Spike lay on the cot in the Summers' basement, his eyes trained on the dust motes caught in the single beam of sunlight that forced its way in through the uncovered corner of one of the small, high basement windows. Time was passing slowly. Upstairs he could hear Dawn and Joyce eating a late breakfast, discussing the tiny, insignificant details of everyday life: the back of the cereal box on the counter, just how Dawn liked the bacon cooked, the fact that Buffy was still sleeping. He couldn't sleep. Somewhere out there Illyria was roaming free. A forceful being with powers he didn't entirely understand or know the limits of. Though he knew where she would be drawn. Places of power. Any bigwig demons, witches, what-have-you, would be on her list. It was the fact that there was also a hell god in town that had Spike really nervous.

At some point he drifted into a restless slumber, tainted with dust and blood; leftovers from the demon dimension that had swallowed L.A. The smell of blood became stronger and Spike woke in a daze, his demon demanding that it feed while it had the chance. A form moved to his right. Spike leapt from where he lay and lashed out quickly. Danger. Always danger in this place.

"Hey! Last time I do anything nice!" Buffy's annoyed voice cut through the haze of dream that still surrounded him. Spike opened his eyes fully, finding himself in a heap on the basement floor, Buffy crouched a few feet away, a mug of blood in her hands. "Geez, just thought I'd bring you some food so we could get an early start on the search tonight…" Her eyes were flashing brightly and the trace of a smile danced on her lips, and Spike found himself dimly wondering if she was teasing him.

"Hey? Anyone alive in there?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "And by alive I mean not alive… undead… You know what? Forget I asked."

"Right," he said suddenly, still feeling disoriented. "Sorry 'bout that. Wasn't here. Was just… reacting."

She was looking at him with strangely compassionate eyes. "Dreamt you were in the other dimension, huh?" He nodded up at her as she stood, accepting the mug she offered to him. "I get it. When Angel… he was in a demon dimension after the whole Acatha thing," her eyes weren't looking at him anymore, her words seeming to tumble from someplace inside of her, "It took him awhile to adjust too. Guess they must be pretty nasty to leave that kind of impression."

God, he had missed her. The Buffy who had still been able to talk. Who hadn't edited every unnecessary word out of her vocabulary. Too many of his memories of her involved tired eyes and veiled features, thin lips that were pursed into a frown that never really left her. This Buffy, still so innocent, in comparison at least. It was like waking to a dream rather than from one.

"Ready to go yet?" she prompted him as he finished draining the mug, bouncing slightly from one foot to the other. "Gotta get my patrol on," she rambled. He nodded his acquiescence.

* * *

He smelt blood in the air. They hadn't been walking long before the smell assaulted him. Different from what he'd had earlier, this had a tangy spiciness to it, the coppery taste hung in the damp air, the light rain amplifying it. "Someone's bleeding," he murmured to Buffy, who walked at his side, a vision in her tight jeans and even tighter sweater.

"Can I just say eww here? The whole smelling blood thing? Really gross."

"And really useful." He smirked at her, enjoying her chatter as she flounced along in her heeled boots. He had missed those. In his last months on the Hellmouth all the girls had given up their heels in favour of being able to move more easily.

"Well, I guess," she admitted, her face twisted up into a cute look of confused uncertainty. "Still gross though."

"This way," he nodded, heading in the direction of the smell. Whatever had been out that night had been vicious, more blood had been spilt than taken, from the scent of things.

"Oh my god," Buffy whispered next to him, her eyes growing wide as they turned into the dark alleyway he had lead them to. "What the hell did this?"

Spike gazed down dispassionately, swallowing the horror his soul was screaming about, and the memories the mangled bodies below them were conjuring. A family. The body of a small child lay there, her throat ripped out, her body crumpled like a rag doll. Her mother a second crumpled form, bloody neck at an angle that could only suggest it having been snapped like a twig. The father a broken pile against the wall of the alleyway.

"_Like a box of dollies!" Drusilla had cried, clapping her hands with glee. "A perfect set! All ready for tea with Miss Edith!"_

"_And all your's, Dru," he had replied, blood running down his chin as he spun his dark princess around the family of still-warm corpses._

"_My prince does love me indeed," she smiled up at him, leaning closer to lick the blood from his features. "One day I shall have to repay the favour."_

Spike swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the tiny crumpled heap in the pale pink dress. "I know who did it." How could he have forgotten that Drusilla had yet to visit in this time?

* * *

"Drusilla?" Buffy's eyes widened. "You mean you just neglected to mention that your ho-bag of a girlfriend shows up and goes around massacring families in alleyways?" The horror of what lay just a few feet to her left was burning away all reason in her mind. She wanted to stake the thing that had done this. Free the world of this kind of senseless and cruel evil. Her eyes turned to take in the crumpled forms again. There was a child!

"Not been my girlfriend for a long time," was the clipped reply. She found her gaze trailing back to Spike, taking in the haunted blue eyes and thin pale lips that stared back at her for a moment before he stepped forward, closer to the bodies. "Still warm," he said softly, one hand reaching down to gently graze the forehead of the woman before he stilled.

Buffy shifted nervously, wondering what had suddenly caught his attention. "Shouldn't we go…"

"Buffy," she stopped shifting and stared at the form in black leather that was now looking back at her. The anguish in that one word was rivaled only by the look in Spike's eyes. "This was me."

For a very long moment, Buffy gazed at the creature standing before her, one hand touching the stake in the back of her waistband before two and two came together. "You mean," she began, her voice coming out hoarse and unrecognizable to her ears, "You mean this dimension's you, don't you?"

His tortured blue eyes told her everything. "This was what you meant when you said…" she began.

"No," he replied, shaking his head, "No, this didn't happen." He stared down at the bodies at his feet and within a blink of her eyes, he was at her side again, his expression so lost that she ached to reach out to him. "This wasn't what… this is different. She… he couldn't hurt them… unless dead. Neck broken… then he… watched?" His gaze was locked on the bodies.

Buffy realized with growing discomfort that the Spike in front of her was shouldering the blame for these deaths. "Hey," she said softly, "Its not your fault. You aren't the one who did this." His eyes flashed towards hers, something panicked shining in them. "He's not you. Not really." She bit her tongue, "I think…" she looked at the bodies and swallowed hard, "I think this is my fault." The panic in his eyes switched to a look of rattled confusion. "I mean, I bumped into him last night, and I said things… and with the whole soul thing…" she trailed off. "I pushed him into this," she said finally, firmly.

"No," he murmured suddenly, one hand gently lifting her chin so she was staring him straight in the eyes. "He did this. Not you, love. It's not your fault. Less than mine." His voice was soft, soothing against her conscience in his refusal to let her carry the burden of guilt. "But we need to find them."

She swallowed, suddenly sensing the proximity between them, the heat of his gaze, the touch of his skin. His hand was cold, but unlike the other Spike's touch in the cemetery the previous night, it was gentle. It didn't feel alien. Or unwanted, she realized with a start. "Yeah, we should go do that," she said, jerking away from his fingers which still lay against the soft skin of her throat. She blinked suddenly, "But what do we _do_ when we find them?"


	6. The Space Between

_**In The Space Between**_

_OK, folks. Major character death warning. It's not how I meant to write this… but… I can't seem to get around it now. Please don't hate me…_

_She swallowed, suddenly sensing the proximity between them, the heat of his gaze, the touch of his skin. His hand was cold, but unlike the other Spike's touch in the cemetery the previous night, it was gentle. It didn't feel alien. Or unwanted, she realized with a start. "Yeah, we should go do that," she said, jerking away from his fingers which still lay against the soft skin of her throat. She blinked suddenly, "But what do we do when we find them?"_

_**Chapter 6: The Space Between…**_

Spike knew where his younger self was. Just as he knew with chill certainty why he had sunk his teeth into the broken neck of the woman in the alleyway. Would he have wanted to know, years before the time came, that he would go out searching for a soul? "Not bloody likely," he muttered under his breath, raking one hand through his hair. He wondered idly if his roots were showing. It was almost funny the idle thoughts one landed on when faced with the worst.

"Where are we going?" Buffy's voice was almost unnaturally soft. He turned to look at her, her face pale in the illumination of the streetlights above them. She looked so young. And nervous. He gazed at her for a long moment, realizing he could read her emotions as they played out across her face. She was staring back at him, trusting him to lead her.

She never trusted him to lead. Not in his world.

"Does the soul really make all the difference?" He heard his voice ask, as if from far away.

She looked momentarily taken aback, "I… I thought it did." She shook her head, "Now I don't know. Not since you…" She stepped closer to him. "You're the one who went from not having a soul to having one. Does it make any difference?"

"Didn't Angel tell you it did?" he prompted, trying hard to keep his disdain from showing.

"I… Yeah, he did," she began, "But I'm starting to wonder… if it's different for each of you." Her face was clouded with suspicion and uncertainty, but she'd said the words, not him.

He wanted to laugh. Or cry. If only the Buffy he had known had been half as open-minded as this one. He might have stood a real chance. What could he tell her? That his soul demanded that Dru and his younger self pay for the crime of a murdered family in an alleyway? That it similarly cried out for his own atonement? That despite the burden of guilt he continued living, continued wanting and hoping and wishing for something better than the lonely, dusty end that he deserved? Nothing was easy.

"Does having a soul change whether you could ever love me?" he said finally, his voice cracking slightly. Internally he was raging against himself, the pansy.

She looked at him with something halfway between horror and understanding. The words were there in his head, _"I could never love you, Spike. I'll never be your girl."_ But she didn't say anything, just sighed, one hand weighing the stake she held onto, her eyes drawn to its sharpened tip.

"The Bronze, right?" She said finally, eyes lifting to meet his own, "That's where we're headed?"

* * *

It turned out that knowing and believing were very different things for Buffy that night. She entered the club just behind Spike, who seemed haunted now, spooking at every odd noise. It was only when they were actually inside the club that Buffy realized that she was still expecting to see her Spike in the same place as always (hanging out near the bar, a frown on his angular features and a beer held carelessly in his long fingers). She skimmed the crowd near the bar and didn't catch even a glimpse of his peroxide-brightened hair.

"Won't see him there, love," the souled Spike muttered lowly in her ear, "Not tonight."

She followed him up the stairs to the darkened corners the owners had included in the new design (a stupid move, she found herself thinking dimly). She followed his gaze, finding it dwelling on the front rail for a long moment. "What happened there?" she asked, her voice light.

"Nothing," was his monosyllabic reply, darker than she had expected it to be. As if something _had_ happened there. Just one more of the things he wasn't telling her about.

"There," he said finally, his head angling toward a corner, his voice little more than a hiss. Buffy turned to look, expecting maybe her Spike standing next to Drusilla, perhaps some dance that was just icky… she wasn't prepared to see him fang-deep in some girl's neck. Blonde, she noticed, as if from a distance. Petite. The girl could have been her, lacking only the Slayer powers that might have protected her. She felt her fists curl, even as something inside her iced over. She'd forgotten what he was. How could she have let that happen?

"Can I trust you to deal with Drusilla?" She heard herself murmur, a steel edge to her voice.

"Wouldn't be the worst you've made me do," he murmured cryptically, drifting away from her like a panther on the prowl.

Whatever that was supposed to mean, she would have to figure it out later. In this moment, a pair of yellow eyes had flickered open and landed on her. A bleach-blonde had slowly raised his head and purposefully licked his blood-stained lips in her direction before letting the limp corpse fall and stalking towards her, the pale woman swaying behind him forgotten. Everything dark and predatory in his character was on full display. She stood her ground even as something inside her screamed in frustration. She had begun to _trust _him, to almost expect something from him.

"Slayer," he whispered in her ear as he came closer, circling around her as she stood still.

"Vampire." She replied, her voice betraying just enough of the hurt she was feeling that she knew he would pick up on it.

"What? You forgot what I am, Slayer?" He came full circle around her, one hand wrapping itself around hers. The one that held her stake, of course. "Tsk, tsk," he murmured into her ear, his unnecessary breath tickling her ear, "This for me, love?"

"You know," she began, "I'm dumber than I thought. 'Cause see, I actually believed that you were changing." She stood stiff as he moved fluidly in front of her, his other hand resting gently on her waist. "And then you do something like this," she rebuked, "And that theory is just… out."

"Dance with me, love?" His voice was little more than a darkened purr.

"Like hell," she hissed, trying to jerk away from him, even as his grip tightened around her. "What kind of game are you playing, Spike?"

"Just figured you might give a dead man his last request," Spike murmured in her ear, "The stake is for me, isn't it, Slayer?"

Buffy fidgeted awkwardly, "If you're dangerous, Spike…"

"Slayer," he shook his head, pulling her in closer and drawing her into a slow, sensual dance. "I never stopped being dangerous."

Inside her there was a battle being waged. Part of her was reacting in ways she would never have thought possible with Spike, his body only as far away as the clothing pressed between them, his mouth so close that his whispered words were in her ear before they left his lips. Another part was screaming to get this all over with, to wrench her hand from his and let the stake find its mark. Her eyes slid closed involuntarily, "I thought you loved me?"

"Do, Slayer," his voice was thick, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back, "Not gonna be your whipped puppy, though."

"Then what will you be?" She murmured against his neck, "'Cause you keep this up, all you'll be is dust."

"Big words from the little girl," his hand let hers go and made its way down to join the other. "But do you really mean it, love?"

"This your way of trying to get me to admit I feel something for you?" Her voice was harsh, disinterested, even as her own hands betrayed her by sliding around his neck, the stake sliding from her grasp to join the broken glass and spilt drinks on the dirty floor.

"S'workin', isn't it?" His voice was husky now, his face buried in her hair. He was breathing in her scent, she realized with a start, feeling him breathing in and out.

She was supposed to fight this, she thought dimly. He'd just been accomplice to Drusilla's crimes. At least five people were dead that night. At least five deaths he hadn't stopped. Had watched instead. At least two broken necks he had slipped his teeth into. A family. A lump rose in Buffy's throat as she registered disgust with herself. Her hands slipped down from around his neck, under her control again as she placed them against his chest and pushed him away.

"You _ever_ do this again, and you're dead, Spike." Her voice was calm, even. "And I'm serious. Doesn't matter that you didn't kill them, you could have saved them." Her voice was trembling now, disgust and remorse rising in her throat.

He stood just a few feet away now, the distance she had pushed between them. His eyes glittered darkly as he laughed. "That's rich, Slayer," he scoffed, "Givin' me a second chance?" In the blink of an eye he was in her space again, "Why can't you just admit it?" His face was just inches from hers, "Admit you feel something too." In the space between one moment and the next, his lips had crashed down to meet hers.

The kiss was brutal, his fingers digging slightly into the flesh of her arms as he pulled her tightly against him. It would have almost hurt, if his lips hadn't been doing something almost wicked to her own. Buffy could taste the blood on his mouth as his tongue begged admittance, sliding between her shocked lips to dance with her own. It was wrong, wrong, wrong, but it felt as if every nerve-ending her body had turned on, focused on this one kiss. "Spike," her voice was foreign to her ears, halfway between a gasp and a moan.

"Buffy," he echoed, his voice holding something like wonder as he leaned back in to kiss her again. His kiss was almost savage, bruising her lips in a way that was leaving her breathless and hungry for more. Even the coppery taste of the blood on his lips and teeth wasn't turning her away. His kiss seemed to have awoken a need as urgent as breathing.

"Spike," she murmured, pulling away, "I can't…" Her open eyes caught his, blue as summer skies, as they flashed with such desire that the words caught in her throat.

"Buffy," he lifted a hand to trace her lips, his fingers tinted red with the blood that now stained both their lips. Dimly, she knew she should be horrified by this. But the desire to touch him was overwhelming all else, and for a moment her hand ghosted along the side of his face. But just for a moment, before his figure crumbled away, the last look in those deep blue eyes one of shock.

Buffy stood numb for a long moment, her eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. Her still-raised hand ached, her fingertips coated in the fine dust that she knew far too well. Her jaw worked slowly, her brain processing in slow-motion.

"Buffy," Spike's voice called behind her, sending a dart of pain and loss through her system, mocking this moment. "I lost… Dru…" he trailed off, apparently landing on the figure who now dominated Buffy's vision, even as it swam. "'ello Whitebread," his rough voice mocked, "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Spike." Buffy finally said, her voice cracking, breaking, as the world seemed to spin out of control.

"Love?" the voice behind her murmured in concern, apparently moving towards her, as she suddenly felt his body behind her, supporting her.

"He killed Spike." She whispered, the ghost of emotion on her voice. She felt the Spike who still existed stiffen behind her.

"Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Riley's voice carried just an ounce of agitation within it.

Buffy had never wanted to hit anyone quite so much.


	7. The Tears We Cry

_**In The Space Between**_

_Sorry sorry sorry… _

"_He killed Spike." She whispered, the ghost of emotion on her voice. She felt the Spike who still existed stiffen behind her._

"_Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Riley's voice carried just an ounce of agitation within it. _

_Buffy had never wanted to hit anyone quite so much._

_**Chapter 7: The Tears We Cry**_

"My knight has left me," Drusilla murmured, her eyes on the younger Spike as he let the body he was holding fall to the ground, his sights set on Buffy. Spike watched the scene play out, his feet leading him to Drusilla's side. "The stars told me about you," she began, without turning to look at him. "I thought I could save him, but he's already lost. My boy is gone. All we are is dust."

"Dru," Spike began, "Been awhile."

"Time and space are only relative," she replied, turning her sharp, dark eyes towards him. "Miss Edith missed you. I tried to tell her you were lost to us." Her gaze wandered. "Did you like our picture? I tried to paint the past with shades of red, but I couldn't feel your joy. Too empty now."

"I'm not like that anymore, Dru," he replied.

"No," she said sadly, "The sunshine ate you all up, and now you're just a ghost. She won't see you if you don't try." She smiled at him wistfully, "I always saw you, my brave knight."

Spike watched her as she spun lightly on her toes. "The blood rushes in my veins, my Spike. Would you dance? You always did love to dance."

"Not tonight, kitten," he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat down. It was hard to look at her. Memories he had buried sprouted into crimson flowers of pain in his heart. Blood-splattered images dancing through his mind, remorse crying out for freedom from the past he had made.

She pouted at him, her pale features that had once held him captive now looking washed out. The shell of a woman. Nothing inside but voices and a demon. He could recognize it now, after years watching over Illyria. "Do you remember, Spike, all the good times we had?"

"They're not so good anymore," he admitted softly.

"The spark," she replied with a tight nod, "I've lost all that was my Spike, haven't I?"

He smiled weakly at her, his once-goddess. "Don't want to hurt you, pet."

She looked at him with dark eyes, understanding love, even if she could understand nothing else. "Promise to the sunshine burns, doesn't it, Spike?" She stepped next to him, the ghost of a touch running against his arm. Her eyes searched his out, "Miss Edith says goodbye."

"And you, love?" he asked gently, "What do you say?"

She looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I can't see you anymore. You walk in worlds I can't begin to imagine."

Spike stood still for a long moment as she lost herself in the crowds, disappearing as she had promised, in words only he could understand. He blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if to clear it, though the back of his eyes prickled slightly despite it. Saying goodbye to Dru wasn't something he had ever really planned. Of course, admitting to Buffy he had let Drusilla go wasn't something he planned to do either. Focusing on the present, Spike let his gaze wander over the crowds, finally catching sight of a sweep of honey-gold hair, the faint scent of vanilla and determination that he associated so tightly with his Slayer.

"Buffy," he called, only a few feet from where she stood still, her feet apparently rooted to the ground. "I lost," he began, only to lose his words as the man who stood in front of Buffy was revealed by the shifting crowds, "Dru…" he finished, looking the unexpected figure up and down. "'Ello, Whitebread," he heard himself say, unsure what Captain Cardboard was doing back in town. This hadn't happened in his world. Of course, different dimension. Maybe this was the way things were supposed to be in this world. Captain Cardboard regrets leaving Slayer, returns and repents, swears his love to her forever, Slayer gets a human partner to look after her. It made a crooked sort of sense and if that was how this reality was supposed to play out, who was he to interfere?

"Spike." Buffy's voice sent a shiver down his spine and set his unbeating heart to aching. She sounded lost, alone, broken. As if something precious had been lost to her, and for a moment Spike wondered if she had heard something about her mother. Had he been unable to prevent death from touching her life, after all?

"Love?" He asked despite himself, ignoring the man who stood in front of Buffy, as he stepped forward, suddenly glad to have closed the gap as her weight sank against him.

"He killed Spike." He heard Buffy murmur. Involuntarily, Spike stiffened. This sadness, this grief and pain… were for him? The unsouled, unloved, just-aided-in-the-murder-of-a-family him? His eyes widened in shock even as he shifted to better support Buffy's weight as she leaned against him.

"Someone want to explain what's going on here?" Captain Cardboard announced in his rough, self-important tones.

Spike never in a million years expected to see Buffy spark to life against him, springing forward to land a solid punch in Captain Cardboard's face. Stunned, he felt a wolfish grin spread across his features. Hell, he'd never liked the bugger, and seeing the Slayer pummel him was undoubtedly one of the greatest moments of vindictive pleasure he'd ever had the pleasure of indulging in. Except that she was still pummeling him despite the groans that were growing somewhat fainter.

"How dare you?" she was shrieking, "You think you have the right?" The thud of fist hitting flesh. "You think you get to decide who lives and who dies?" The thick syrupy thunk of head hitting floor and yielding.

"Love," Spike murmured, rushing forward and pulling her off of the male form she seemed to have been determined to beat into non-existence. "Stop, you're gonna kill the git if'n you keep that up."

She was flushed, her breathing heavy, her eyes blind with fury as she struggled against him, fists still in Riley's direction. For a moment, Spike felt a surge of something approximating sympathy. One look in the human's direction suggested that she'd done quite the number before he had pulled her back. Having been at the end of many of Buffy's beatings over the years, he knew just how much pain the still-moaning git had to be in.

"Oh my god," he heard one dancer gasp, "What the hell happened to him?"

"Good lord! Someone call 9-1-1!"

"Who did this to him?"

Spike pulled Buffy closer to him, roughly turning her to face him. "Slayer, you gotta snap out o' it. We're getting' out of here _now_."

"He killed him." She whispered, the fight slipping from her stiff form, the fire draining from her eyes.

"And neither he nor I knew you cared so much, Slayer," Spike replied, searching for an exit as he slipped through the crowd and the shadows that kept the pair from being noticed by the growing circle of people around Cardboard's collapsed form.

* * *

It was with a sigh of relief that he pulled the Slayer into a cemetery and sat her down on the grass between the tombstone belong to Robert and Iris Pennington and the weeping willow that trailed its branches over top of it. "What the bloody 'ell was that?" He heard himself say in disbelief.

He heard Buffy sniffle. Sniffle! Over his death! "How was I supposed to react?" she whispered, "One second Spike is standing there, and the next, poof!"

"That's kinda how it works, love," Spike replied, kneeling in front of her, as she pulled herself into a tight ball, tears visibly running down her face. "Hey, hey," he patted her back awkwardly. "I think Cardboard will survive, so no need to feel bad for the beat down, Slayer…"

"What'd you say?" she snuffled, through her tears.

"Said Riley will be fine. You did a number on 'im, but he's a fighter, he'll…"

"No, not that." She waved a hand as she ran the length of her sleeve across her nose, "What'd you call him?" she choked out.

"Cardboard?" Spike asked one eyebrow raised. Truth to be told, he was more than a little freaked out by the Slayer at the moment.

"Yeah," she replied, choking on another sob.

"'ve always called the git that?" he continued, his eyes widening slightly as Buffy went from tears to smothered laughter.

"You really are him." She announced softly, her eyes still watery as she calmed down. She wiped at her eyes, "I don't even know why I'm crying. Stupid vampire. Stupid… you?" She looked at him with bright confusion. "Did you really love me? Even before the soul? Without it?"

Spike stared at her, dawning realization in his heart. The Slayer had cared. Even back then. Back now. She… cared. "With all my heart," he murmured softly, staring into her bloodshot eyes. "Love… doesn't stop being love just 'cause you don't have a soul. It's… not the same kind of love. It's… more selfish, less givin'. But still's love. Makes you do dumb things, makes you hate yourself, makes you change yourself, makes you better than you were." He tucked a stray strand of hair between her ear, "I always loved you, jus' took me time t' see it."

Somehow this earned him another snuffle and a sob. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I must be a disgusting mess… I didn't even… I shouldn't even cry, really. He was… such a pain in the ass." She hiccupped. Spike wondered if he had ever loved her more.

"Would you... Do you think it'd be ok if we don't look for Illyria tonight?" She murmured. "I mean, you can…"

"'m right behind you, Slayer," he murmured. "Blue can look after 'erself when the chips are down."

"So you can… you can walk me home?" Came the sniffled request.

* * *

Buffy wasn't sure exactly what had turned her into this sniffling wreck. Spike hadn't meant that much to her. The pain in her ass, the thorn in her side, the vampire she let live because killing him would seem unnecessarily cruel. She leaned against the other Spike as they walked back to her mother's house. He had one arm wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her. His face was unreadable as his eyes searched through the shadows, sifting through them for any danger as they walked. She leaned closer into him, feeling his arm tighten slightly.

He loved her. He had always loved her. One look in those earnest eyes had assured her of it. With soul or without. But she'd known that, hadn't she? Her Spike had been intense and dark and insistent. His kiss… oh god, his kiss. She'd felt as if she were being brought to life, as if every one of her senses was so filled she could have drowned in sensation. How could she have found that, only to lose it in the space of a moment? She felt the dull ache of more tears building up behind her eyes. She would never have believed she had so many tears to cry for Spike. Never would have believed that he'd filled the sort of space inside of her that demanded tears and mourning.

And apparently, neither did the Spike who walked beside her. She'd caught his curious glances, his bewildered expression. He kept trying to make her feel better about beating Riley to a pulp and leaving him on the floor of the Bronze to be scraped up by whoever was willing to help him. As if she were more upset about that. Truthfully, a part of her wanted to go back and make it final. Avenge Spike's death. No matter that she was a vampire slayer, not a vampire slayer slayer. She laughed suddenly, attracting another confused glance from Spike. "Slayer of Slayers," she said bemusedly, "That was you."

"'m not followin', love." Was his alarmed reply.

"I was just thinking that part of me wants to go back and finish Riley off. You know, avenge Spike's death. Slay a slayer." She giggled. "It would be kinda ironic, wouldn't it? Poetic justice."

There was a long pause. "He'd of liked that," he announced finally. "Though I don't think you should, Slayer," he added quickly, "Cardboard's a git, but don't think he necessarily deserves to die for it."

"How do you know he'd like it?" She whispered softly, one hand tugging lightly on the soft black leather of his duster. She kept her eyes trained on him as he turned to smile at her, the traces of a smirk in his eyes.

"Cause _I_ like it, Slayer." He replied, the ghost of evil mischief passing across his eyes.

Buffy wrapped her fingers around the leather of his duster. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly, her eyes falling away to stare into the darkness that surrounded them, "It's like I haven't lost all of him."

* * *

She missed the stare that Spike gave her. One that spoke of desperate desire and awe. One that looked identical to how an unsouled Spike had looked at her just a few hours earlier. Spike swallowed hard, wondering how he was ever supposed to leave her, when she could say things like that.

"Would you tell me about him?" she asked. "What you remember from what you were like around this time?" Her request sounded almost shy and Spike felt a little delirious. As if he were dreaming. So he obliged her and told her everything he could remember about the time. Without shame he recalled the BuffyBot and Glory's kidnapping of him. The single kiss she had bestowed on him. Their failed escape attempt. That last night on the stairs. His promise to her.

"Told you I knew you'd never love me," he murmured, as they sat on her back porch, watching the heavens move above them.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what, pet?" He looked at her patiently, "Hasn't happened here."

She shrugged. "No, but…" she was struggling for words. They'd never been her strong point, he mused silently. "It sounds like I was a bitch to you. And… I was a bitch to him. And now he's gone and I can't tell him I'm sorry. Can't tell him that he was right, that I did care. That I believed that he could be better than what he was." She looked at him. "I guess I was right to believe it, though, wasn't I? I mean, here you are with a soul you chose to have." He nodded, unsure what to say. Here she was, extending understanding she hadn't been willing to offer even with the knowledge that he'd had a soul. There was a long silence. "Thank you," she said finally.

"Any time, Buffy," he replied, watching her stand with half-lidded eyes. He'd settle for friend. It was more than he'd ever really thought he'd be able to lay claim to. He watched her stand still, looking out over her darkened backyard. Listened to the thump-thump of her heart and the whisper of her breath in the still night air.

"He kissed me," she said suddenly, "Right before… Before Riley staked him."

He looked up at her with what he hoped were unreadable eyes. It was crazy to be jealous of yourself, wasn't it?

"I kissed him back," she continued, her gaze still resting on something out in the darkness. "I thought you should know."

"'e died happy then, love," he said softly, his eyes on her form. "Only ever dreamed of a crumb." He watched her head fall for a second, as she mumbled something about going to bed. He listened to the backdoor snick shut, listened to her footsteps pausing just behind the door, sensed her body pressed against it. The body he knew better than she could ever dream.

"He could have had the whole cookie," he heard her breath, so quiet and muffled it could have been his own imagination. He listened to her footsteps, light and quick, as they raced up the stairs to her room. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Staring at them for a long moment, he pulled the plastic wrapping off and slid a single cigarette from the pack. Reaching back into his pocket he pulled out his lighter and flicked it on. A tiny, bright spark of fire blazed as he lit the end of the cigarette that now dangled casually from his lips.

* * *

In the morning, Buffy walked the few kilometers from her mother's house to the college for her Monday classes. She paused by the big, old tree in her front yard, a sad smile spreading across her lips as she looked from the small pile of cigarette butts to her bedroom window. Her gaze falling back to the pile, she realized with a start that the butts were fresh, no more than a night old. The sadness of her smile drained away, leaving something between astonishment and contentment to dance upon her features. The strange sense that she might not have lost as much as she had feared began to bloom inside of her.


	8. As The Laughter Keeps Us Coming Back

_**In The Space Between**_

I've recently updated several older chapters to fix some typos I missed in my editing – a huge thank you to Brunettepet for pointing them out!

_In the morning, Buffy walked the few kilometers from her mother's house to the college for her Monday classes. She paused by the big, old tree in her front yard, a sad smile spreading across her lips as she looked from the small pile of cigarette butts to her bedroom window. Her gaze falling back to the pile, she realized with a start that the butts were fresh, no more than a night old. The sadness of her smile drained away, leaving something between astonishment and contentment to dance upon her features. The strange sense that she might not have lost as much as she had feared began to bloom inside of her. _

_**Chapter 8: As The Laughter Keeps Us Coming Back For More**_

"You realize your plan will fail." Illyria's back was to the hell god as she spoke, surveying the grassy parkland that spread itself out below the condominium. Leaving one's back open to attack was either a sign of foolishness, or an insult to the would-be attacker. Illyria did not consider herself a fool. Glory, however, was another story indeed.

"Is that a threat?" the blonde huffed.

Illyria rolled her eyes. "No, it is a statement. The Key you require is under the protection of the Slayer, and the Slayer is under the protection of my vampire." She turned then, eyeing up the hell god. "My vampire is under my protection."

"Are you saying that you've spent the last week camping out in my condo, just to come to the conclusion that not only will you not help me find my Key, you're actually going to help those… insects… keep it from me?" Glory's voice rose both in volume and pitch, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Illyria kept her gaze level, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly into a small smirk, just one of the vampire's traits that she had begun to allow to rub off onto her. "Precisely," she smiled darkly as the hell god sprang to her feet and charged toward her. She rather enjoyed violence.

The hell god's hit never made contact, as Illyria blocked her fist in a single smooth movement that sent Glory off-balance, stumbling to the right, recovering with her back against the wall. "You don't want to fight me, Glorificus," Illyria said, her voice cold. Deep down she had been hoping that this outcome would result at some point. After years in a dimension in which time had been measured by the bodies of her slain enemies, this deadly dance her vampire rejoiced in had become something she needed. After all, if she could not have the entire world at her feet (where they rightfully should be), then she would at least destroy those who would try to even touch her.

The hell god blinked, her hands gathering back into fists, "That's just what you want to think, Illyria," she hissed as she leapt forward.

Illyria smiled her thin-lipped smile and once again blocked Glory's hits, this time sending her opponent tumbling to the floor. She reached down with one tiny hand and pulled the hell god up by her pampered blonde locks and stared at her coldly, "I can destroy you, Glorificus," she whispered softly, "But I think it will prove to be much more interesting if I don't just yet."

* * *

Spike woke from a dreamless sleep to the sound of Summers women speaking in soft voices. He lay tangled in the thin sheets of the cot that sat in the basement, and if it weren't for the fact that he could hear Joyce's voice rather than the high-pitched squeals of Potentials filtering down to him through the floorboards, he could almost have convinced himself that he was back in that last year in Sunnydale.

"I have one last round of tests this evening," he heard Joyce saying, "But the doctors haven't found anything at this point."

"Spike could be wrong," he heard Buffy say hopefully, "I mean, in his time or dimension, or whatever, Riley never came back. And he came back here. So…"

"So maybe while he's near death, I won't be?" Joyce's reply was reproving. Apparently she had figured out from the little Buffy had admitted about this dimension's Spike's dusting and the news reports of the "severely beaten and unconscious young man" who had been "rescued" from the Bronze, exactly what had happened.

"Uh, yeah, about that…"

"You nearly killed Riley?" Dawn's voice was oddly triumphant. "That's so cool!"

"Dawn!" Joyce's voice interrupted harshly, though she softened it with a sigh. "This isn't what I wanted to talk to you girls about. I wanted to tell you that I've been rather unfair to you. I thought, even when my illness was at its worse, that it wouldn't..." she seemed a bit lost for words. "I never dreamed that I would be leaving you girls alone. And I let that illusion keep me from doing important things to protect your futures."

"Mom," Buffy said softly, "You don't need to…"

"Yes, Buffy, I do!" she interjected. "And I shudder to think what you and Dawn must have gone through in that other dimension where I didn't take the time to get things in order." She paused, the fight leaving her voice, "I called your father. He's been neglecting Dawn's child support payments ever since you turned eighteen, Buffy, and while I've gotten along fine without them, he should know that he is still responsible for the two of you. Especially if I'm gone. He might not like it, but he's going to start paying them again. And he's going to try harder to stay in touch with you girls."

"Mom," Buffy began, her voice catching in her throat, "Nothing's going to happen to you. The doctors are going to catch whatever is wrong, and maybe…"

Again Joyce cut off her eldest daughter, this time with a sigh. "And I wish that we could guarantee that. But we can't. Even if there's nothing wrong, I could walk out of the house and to the corner store one day and all it would take is one bad driver…"

"Mommy?" Dawn's voice was tiny and fragile, "Can we please talk about something else now?" Spike could hear the wince in Dawn's voice, so childlike in this moment. She would grow so much in the next two years.

"Oh honey," Spike heard Joyce murmur, his hearing straining now to catch every word. "I just want the two of you to be safe if anything ever does happen to me. With any luck, I'll be here for a long time to come. But if I'm not, I don't want you to be left in the lurch without me."

Spike closed his eyes, imagining the three women sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around each other in the comfort of family. A fierce swell of love rose up in his throat and a desire to protect them from any and all pain that dared to come near them rushed over him like a wave. They were _his_ women, whether they knew it or not, and he only wished, desperately, that he could do anything real for them. But how does someone who barely exists in the world at all even begin to look after those who do? The sick feeling of impending loss washed over Spike as he hung his head in the basement. The only thing he could really do to make their lives better was to get out of it. As soon as they were safe.

* * *

"So one more night of searching for your demon god without any luck," Buffy began, her voice artificially perky as she strode alongside him, her mind obviously on her mother's last round of tests.

"You know you can go home," he began to offer, only to have her roll her eyes at him.

"I need to patrol anyway, so really? Might as well have the company."

He snorted, "'cause that's real safe when you're as distracted as you are, Slayer."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she glared at him, pulling a face that just made him wonder at how young she still was, as compared to the Buffy he'd known. At the lack of reaction he gave her, she sighed, stretching out her arms, "Then I guess it's just as well that you're here then. You can help me fight." She paused for a moment, "You can still fight, right?"

Spike gave her a wan smile. "Guess you'll find out soon 'nough, pet," he nodded towards a particularly ugly creature that was dragging itself out from the forest bordering the cemetery. It was a mass of scales, fangs, and claws, but anyone watching would have seen the instant spark of light that brightened the eyes of both of the fighters as they settled into their deadly dance.

Spike leapt into the fray with fervour, the frustrations and stresses of the last week and a half rolling off his shoulders as he punched and kicked and taunted the nightmarish demon that simply growled and gibbered in reply. He was a whirl of motion and he was disappointed to find himself with an arm around the thing's surprisingly fragile neck. The crack of breaking vertebrae was no less satisfying. He let the body slump to the ground beneath him, leaping lightly off of the monster's shoulders, only to find himself looking straight into Buffy's confused gaze.

"Uh, doing my job for me, Spike?" her voice was uncertain, though she was trying to hide it with humour.

He shrugged, "Spent the last few years in a demon dimension, love. You pick up a few tricks."

He watched her look from him to the demon and back. "That thing is three times your size and you took it down with your bare hands!"

He shrugged again, "You could've done the same. We gonna keep looking for more big bads then?"

* * *

He missed the truth of Buffy's reaction, and she couldn't have been more grateful. She'd been prepared for _her_ Spike's style, which was, in essence, to sit back and watch her take down something huge and terrifying. _This_ Spike was both terrifying and beautiful to watch. This Spike had taken the act of violence and had hewn it into some glorious and awful work of art. His certainty that she could have taken down the demon wasn't something that she shared. Not without some kind of weapon, at least. Not alone. Not in under five minutes. Not while taunting the, well, in this case only, poor thing.

This Spike could teach her a thing or a two. And that scared her. Not so much because it meant that he might be dangerous, or that he could possibly beat her, but because, well, she was _looking forward to being taught_. And that was just weird.

The rest of the night progressed in the same way. For once, Buffy let herself hang back, letting Spike do the fighting and her do the watching. It was a bizarre reversal of their normal roles, and it unnerved her, but with the same sick fascination she would use to pick at a scab or pull off an old band-aid, she kept watching. She took mental notes, not just on that nifty new technique (or ten) he threw in here and there, but on him. The way each fight left him looking more relaxed, more certain of himself, and less gloomy than he had before. It was almost as if she were watching layers peel themselves away, revealing a Spike not-so-different after all from the one she had (she could admit it now, couldn't she?) been starting to care about.

"You planning on contributing?" he said finally, wiping a bit of blood from the split lip he'd received earlier after dusting several fledglings with ease.

She stared at him for a long moment, as he unconsciously licked the blood from his hand, wondering just how much difference a soul actually made when push came to shove. "I was taking notes," she said finally, as she watched him raise an eyebrow at her lengthy silence, "You learned some new moves."

She was glad he let it drop. They walked home without talking, though Buffy could almost feel the contented hum that vibrated through the vampire beside her. Something within her felt a little haunted and empty. Another part didn't want to stop watching him. She gave him a sideways glance. He was such a complex mixture of old habits and new actions. She didn't know how to classify him. He wasn't like Angel. Angel didn't hum. Angel had never felt so alive while walking beside her as Spike did now. She found herself wishing, somewhere inside, that he would stay like this, and drop his strange, sad, knowing moods. She couldn't cope with those. This… well she couldn't really cope with this either, but this at least… the train of thought came to a shuddering stop. This she liked. This she related to. This she could get used to. This… and she gave him another sideways glance…

* * *

She'd been looking at him funny the whole walk back to her mother's house. It wasn't his fault he'd picked up a few new tricks for keeping himself alive. Of course, he found himself now wondering if she was debating whether she could still beat him and if she couldn't, just how important it was to keep him around. He still half-expected her to pull out her stake and threaten him with it. It had been her trademark move during this time period. Instead she kept looking him with alternating confused glances and a slightly dazed expression. She was trying to classify him. This much he could tell. She had always been good at putting things into neat little boxes in her mind.

"What are you looking at?" he growled finally, meeting her sideways glance with a glare. Her strange looks were beginning to unravel the buzz he was still feeling from the thrill of the fight. It had felt good to kill something. Things he wouldn't have to feel guilty for later.

She shook her head slightly, a perplexed look in her eyes. "You," she admitted softly.

Spike stared at her for a long moment, speechless. Something in her monosyllabic answer suggested that she might really be trying to see _him_. And that was a mildly terrifying thought. Perhaps this dimension was more different than he had first thought. Or perhaps he had just caught a more innocent Buffy off-guard. In either case, he wasn't sure he wanted to pursue the point.

He watched her slip her house key out of her pocket, as they approached the house. "That's kinda weird," she said softly, staring up at the darkened windows, "Mom was supposed to be back from the hospital tonight."

"An' the bit?" Spike prompted.

"Dawn's sleeping over at her friend's house," she replied distractedly, stepping up to the front door and unlocking it slowly. Spike followed behind her, a sinking feeling in his gut. He listened to Buffy call for her mother as she wandered through the house. His gaze settled on the answering machine. It's tiny red light blinking repetitively. "I can't… I don't think she's…"

"You have a message," Spike gestured at the insistent red light, his eyes meeting Buffy's sympathetically. She was scared. She stood still, watching the red flashes like a deer caught in headlights. Spike sighed impatiently, closing the gap between the machine and himself and hitting the play button.

"Er… yes, hello? This message is for Miss Buffy Summers. This is Dr. Greene. I… have some bad news. You may want to sit down. Your mother has suffered from a severe brain aneurysm. A level 5 on the Hunt and Hess scale. She's extremely lucky she was already in the hospital when it occurred. We are currently performing an emergency surgery and we believe that she has a good chance of recovery. I must warn you that she will likely be in a coma, though she shows good signs of health and quite possibly will escape this mishap without brain trauma. We have every faith that she will recover…"

The machine beeped. "End of message. Time of message eleven fifty-two pm. To replay message, press the replay button. To hear the next message, press next."

Spike gazed at Buffy for a moment, taking in her thin, tightly pressed lips and the sudden paleness of her face. He pressed the next button.

"Uh, yes. This is Dr. Greene again. I was cut off," muttering about infernal machines could be heard under the doctor's breath before he continued, "We understand the strong desire of family members to see their loved ones as soon as possible, but we do request that you wait until tomorrow morning to arrive at the hospital. Until the surgery has been completed, and a post-operative evaluation has been completed, there is little more we can tell you. And even less that you can do. Try to get some sleep in the meantime." There was a pause as the doctor seemed to struggle to find something better to say, "I am very sorry you have to hear this on a recording."

The machine beeped and the electronic voice began to roll through its peppy set of commands and menu options. Spike silenced it with a click of the off button. He looked at Buffy, at the tears that were welling up in her eyes and the tremble in her fingers as she reflexively formed them into fists. "Sleep?" she whispered raggedly. "He expects me to _sleep_ while my mother is in a coma and in surgery?"

Spike sighed softly, walking towards her slowly, awkwardly reaching out and patting her shoulder. "He's prob'ly a surgeon, love. They have no people skills."

A sob wracked its way from Buffy body as a tiny, hoarse laugh escaped her lips. The sob won and Buffy seemed to crumble into Spike's arms. He folded his arms around her, an expression of disbelief, wonder, and something akin to joy, filling his face. He ran a hand over the back of her head, smoothing her silky hair against her scalp and her neck, while pulling her closer, letting her bury herself in his shoulder, her tears escaping her eyes to soak into his t-shirt. "Shhh," he murmured softly, stroking her back and her hair in a steady rhythm, "It'll be ok, love. Your mum, she's a tough bird. And you heard the doctors; they think she'll recover. She'll be alright." He desperately hoped he wasn't lying.

She hiccupped softly, her choked sobs fading and her breathing slowing down and following the steady time of Spike's touch. Spike stilled as she snuggled tighter into his embrace. "I think I got your shirt all wet," she sniffled, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

"S'ok, love," Spike hoped his voice wasn't as strangled as it sounded to his ears.

"I don't understand," she murmured softly, still sniffling as she pulled away, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "I never cry, and now I'm…" she bit her lip, obviously composing herself against another onslaught of tears. She stared at him with sad eyes, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head, helplessly ensnared by the tremble in her lower lip and the softness of her voice. He was a man lost, drowning in something too much larger than himself to control.

"I should go to bed," she said flatly, turning away, shutting down the emotional side and shutting out the world after a slip like that. Spike realized with a start that the last time he had seen her cry… he'd been the one to wipe away the tears then too. And just hold her. The best night of his life.

"Buffy," he heard himself say, "You don't…"

"Don't what?" she prompted, turning to face him, her face all business with no trace of tears.

"Don't need to carry it all alone." She stared at him for a long moment, her lips slightly parted. He took a hesitant step towards her.

She smiled weakly, "I'm the Slayer, Spike. This is what I do. This is what I have to do. I have to keep it together. If I don't, who will?"

He let his gaze fall. Every answer he had to that question was likely to be thrown back into his face. "Right then," he began, lifting his head to stare at her hard, his own weak smile in place, "Just a convenient shoulder to cry on. Best to go on up to bed and forget it ever happened, right?" He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

The mask slipped from Buffy's face. The nonchalant tough act falling away to reveal someone lost and in pain. "You're so not convenient, Spike," she said softly, shaking her head slowly, as she wrapped her arms around herself. He watched her swallow and look anywhere but at him. "Do you think," she faltered a little, her gaze fixing on the living room couch, "Do you think you could just sit with me for awhile? I… I don't really want to be alone."

Spike stared at her in disbelief. He really had slipped into an alternate dimension.


	9. The Wicked Lies We Tell

_**In The Space Between**_

_The mask slipped from Buffy's face. The nonchalant tough act falling away to reveal someone lost and in pain. "You're so not convenient, Spike," she said softly, shaking her head slowly, as she wrapped her arms around herself. He watched her swallow and look anywhere but at him. "Do you think," she faltered a little, her gaze fixing on the living room couch, "Do you think you could just sit with me for awhile? I… I don't really want to be alone."_

_Spike stared at her in disbelief. He really had slipped into an alternate dimension._

_**Chapter 9: The Wicked Lies We Tell**_

She had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Spike was almost afraid to move. Afraid that he would interrupt this moment, where a younger, less destroyed Buffy was trusting him to watch over her. Was leaning on him. Was so close he could smell her scent; watch her eyelashes lay against her skin; could feel her body heat warming him. It was heaven. And it was hell. He sighed softly, slipping her head off his shoulder to momentarily lean against the couch as he angled himself to better pick her up and carry her to her waiting bed. He wasn't prepared for the flicker of her eyelids and the soft contented sigh that escaped her lips as he lifted her off the couch and pulled her against him. He never in a million years would have expected her arms to sleepily loop around his neck, holding her safely against him, her face nuzzled into his chest as he carried her out of the living room and up the stairs to her room. If his heart could beat, it would have been skipping.

He nudged her bedroom door open with one boot. He thanked the Powers for his night vision as he dodged various weaponry and clothing that Buffy had left strewn on her floor, all the while keeping her cushioned lightly against his chest. She seemed half-awake, but unwilling to break out of his hold, and he would take that crumb. Every unnecessary breath he took was drenched in the smell of _Buffy_. His arms were wrapped around her warm body, in contact with tiny patches of her soft, smooth skin. He felt mildly delirious, laying Buffy gently down onto her bed, her arms slipping unwillingly from around his neck. Her hands running slowly down the front of his shirt, even as they closed around the fabric and tugged lightly.

"Stay with me?" her voice was little more than a whisper. Her eyes were still closed. "I don't know why… but… I feel better with you here."

Spike swallowed hard against the rising emotions in his throat. He'd lay his life down for her. Had. And she thought he could refuse a request like that?

"Please, Spike?" her voice slid hoarsely over his name and sent a shiver down his spine. Her eyes opened a slight crack as she sat up slowly, a stray lock of hair falling across her face as she peered him in the darkness. He watched her lean slightly to the side, her arm brushing against his as she flicked her bedside light on. "I know… I know it might be a lot to ask. I don't know exactly what happened, and maybe it's too much to ask… maybe…"

He stared at her. It wasn't just convenience. She was rambling in that confusing way of hers, dancing around the fact that she wanted _him_ to comfort her. That she was willing to consider his feelings on the matter. That he could say _no_. This was so far from everything he had ever experienced with the Buffy he had known, that he felt momentarily adrift in the ocean of her imploring eyes.

"I'll stay," he whispered in reply. "Of course I'll stay," he murmured hoarsely. He glanced quickly up at her window, where the curtains hung wide open. "Though I better close the curtains, pet. Sunrise isn't so far off."

She watched him rise with wide eyes, almost childlike in the orange glow of her bedside lamp. It was hard to take his eyes off of her, even for a moment. He felt like he was in some sort of dream. Bitterly sweet and surreal. He pulled his gaze away for the moment it would take to shut the curtains properly, but found his eyes drawn to a figure standing on the sidewalk before the house. Moonlight shone dully on white bandages and dark hair. Spike stared down at the man on the sidewalk, watching as the man lifted an arm encased in a cast to wave resentfully. Spike blinked rapidly, shutting the curtains against Riley's gaze before back-peddling to the chair by Buffy's bedside.

"Spike?" Buffy's voice was muffled by sleepiness, as she sunk down into her covers and stared at her lamp. "What's the future like?"

Spike shook his head, "Why don't I tell you about something better, love?"

* * *

Buffy sat stiffly on Giles' sofa. She dragged a spoon through the cup of tea she hadn't really wanted, trying to focus on the swirling tea rather than the memory of her mother looking tiny and pale in a hospital bed. The beep of the machines that monitored her life signs was a chilling refrain in her brain. Dawn had taken one look at their mother and had stifled a sob, turning and running from the room. Xander had taken Dawn back to her friend's house. Giles had brought her back here.

She set the cup of cooling tea down on the table in front of her. She looked up Giles, who was speaking with Willow in rushed, clipped tones about which books they should be looking through, what they should try to pick out of Spike's brain, what supplies they needed. She stared at them for a long moment, feeling like an alien. "Giles," she began slowly, interrupting the conversation before her at the very moment Xander came bursting into the flat.

"Ok, so the Dawnster is at Janice's place. What's today's homework assignment?" He rubbed his hands together, feigning eagerness.

Buffy smiled at him wearily. "Thank you, Xander," she said softly. "I couldn't go chasing after Dawn when the doctor needed to talk to me."

Xander gave her a worried look. "What did he say, by the way?" He looked uncomfortable as he sat down beside her, "Is it… is it bad?"

Buffy nodded stiffly, suddenly longing for the silent calm that had been Spike's presence last night. What on earth could have turned him from the cocky and crude vampire she had known into the person who had held her through the night, she couldn't even guess. Not a move had been made. Not a single inappropriate touch. And it wasn't because he hadn't wanted her. She had woken up near dawn, twisting in his arms to get more comfortable and finding herself facing him. His eyes had been dark with emotion as his arms had tightened subtly around her. For a long moment she had returned his gaze, trying to read his expression. A second shift of her body that brushed her hip lightly across his body had made its meaning _abundantly_ clear. Her eyes had widened, her body stiffening in response to her discovery. He hadn't moved, his gaze unwaveringly steady. "Sleep, love," he said softly, "I promise not to take advantage." For a moment, she had seen the ghost of one of his trademark smirks across his lips.

"Buffy?" Xander's voice was full of concern.

"What?" she replied distractedly, trying to focus on the present.

"I asked how your mom was?" he let the question hang in the air.

Buffy sighed. She turned to Giles. "Do you think we could do this later? Or tomorrow?" She gazed at her Watcher imploringly. "I just… I can't think right now. Seeing Mom looking so…" she swallowed hard. She was too well acquainted with death to finish the thought.

As she had expected, Giles started suddenly. Standing and apologizing for not realizing her discomfort, he had offered her a ride home. She turned it down, letting him and her friends continue their research. It was important, after all, with two demon gods on the loose. With a weary smile, she headed for the door, only to watch it fly open on its own accord.

"Giles!" the man's voice called out before the door was even open, "I need to talk to you about Buffy!"

She stared at the dark haired man before her with a less than impressed look on her face. "Riley," she said stiffly, a crooked grimace on her lips as she took in the cast on his arm, the bandages he wore, and the black eye and split lip that stood out starkly on his handsome face. Or rather, the face that had been handsome before she had gotten to it.

His bruised face still managed to express surprise. "Buffy," he stuttered, "I didn't expect to see you here…"

"Obviously," she spat in reply, cutting him off harshly. "But I can tell you that anything you want to say, should be said to me. Not behind my back." She glared at him, "You lost the right to tell me what I should be doing with my life when you _left me_."

The hard look in his eyes made her regret saying that. "Of course, I left. Why should you take any responsibility for what happened?" He shook his head, "You just take what comes your way, don't you, Buffy?"

Buffy stared at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Riley smiled coldly at her, "Keeping Spike a secret then, huh?" He looked past her at Giles and Xander who had crept down the hallway behind Buffy, "He was in her _bedroom_ last night."

"Which you know, how?" Buffy spat, "By spying on me? Stalking me from the street? Oh yeah, aren't you the hero."

"Buffy," Giles stuttered from behind her, "Perhaps his concerns are… valid."

Buffy spun around to glare at her Watcher. "I fell asleep on the couch and he carried me to bed," she said softly, "But thanks for the vote of confidence, Giles." With that, she brushed past her ex-boyfriend who still hovered in the doorway and ran the distance home. There was so much going on, and she just couldn't deal with it. Not when all she could see when she closed her eyes was her mother's pale face, looking tiny and sandwiched between beeping life support machines. That, and the look in Spike's eyes when he had agreed to stay with her last night.


	10. And Hope To Keep Safe From The Pain

_**In The Space Between**_

_Buffy spun around to glare at her Watcher. "I fell asleep on the couch and he carried me to bed," she said softly, "But thanks for the vote of confidence, Giles." With that, she brushed past her ex-boyfriend who still hovered in the doorway and ran the distance home. There was so much going on, and she just couldn't deal with it. Not when all she could see when she closed her eyes was her mother's pale face, looking tiny and sandwiched between beeping life support machines. That, and the look in Spike's eyes when he had agreed to stay with her last night. _

_**Chapter 10: And Hope To Keep Safe From The Pain**_

Spike awoke with a start to the front door slamming shut. He could hear Buffy gasping for breath and choking on sobs, and it had him to his feet in an instant. He was up the stairs before he knew himself, the basement door flung wide, heedless of the filtered sunlight that beamed its way into the hallway. His hands were on Buffy's trembling shoulders before he'd fully taken stock of the situation, and he heard his own voice as if from a distance, demanding to know what was wrong, who was after them, what he needed to do for her.

It was her shocked green eyes that brought him back to himself. The skin of his bare torso was smoking lightly, though the burn of sunlight was one he'd long ago learned to ignore. His rambling mouth stilled and he realized, with utterly clarity, that he was completely under her power yet again. Her well-being came first. Her life before his. He would burn forever, if it could keep her whole and unharmed. He bit his lip, as he leaned back, standing to bounce lightly on the balls of his bare feet. He extended a hand to Buffy's crumpled form, a suddenly silent ball of emotionally wiped-out woman curled at the foot of the front door.

He watched her swallow hard, her delicate throat working with indistinct movements. She placed a shaking hand in his as he pulled her towards him. "We should get out of the sunlight," she whispered softly, "You're burning."

Wordlessly, he pulled her down the first few steps of the basement stairs, pulling the door closed behind them. They stood silently in the basement gloom, Buffy's hand still wrapped in his own. They stood too close together. Spike could feel her warmth on the bare skin of his chest. She shifted slightly, and the lightly ruffled bottom of her skirt brushed against the denim of his jeans. "I thought," he began softly, his voice trailing off drily. What could he possibly say that didn't make him look like a whipped puppy? She was in pain. He'd heard it and he'd come running without a thought. It really was just that simple.

She opened her mouth, though her eyes remained steadfast, focused somewhere in the middle of his chest. He watched her mouth work silently, no words coming out. Her free hand rose slowly, settling heavily on the skin that lay above his unbeating heart. Her fingers flexed softly against his skin, fingernails rasping ever so gently against him. "Why me?" she said finally, her emerald eyes suddenly staring at him accusingly. "What do I do to deserve this?"

He was taken aback for moment, his attention riveted on the sensation of her fingertips against his chest. Distractedly, he struggled for the words to explain himself. "It's not you, pet." He plead desperately. "It's me. I'm… I'm not right. I shouldn't even…"

"No." Her voice was hard, the single word ground out in frustration. "I mean, what do I do to deserve _you_? What do I do to be worth this kind of attention? You… you never leave, do you? You just… you're always here. And you, heard me, and came _literally_running. Despite the sun. Despite the… despite everything I've ever said or done." The tears were back in her eyes, glittering like diamonds on her dark eyelashes. "What do I do to deserve that kind of love?" Her hands spasmed erratically, the hand he still held flexing, clawing out of his grasp to land alongside her other hand on his chest. Her voice held an element of desperation. "I'm never enough for anyone," she cried, her fingers splayed against his chest. "What do I do to be worthy of _this_?"

He couldn't think. No one in the world could hold him accountable for his actions. How could they? The woman who owned his heart and soul was in his arms demanding to know what made her worthy of his love. How could his love be worthy of her? His mouth fell against hers, his arms wrapped around her body, crushing her to him. To be honest, he was ruthless. He was in a dream, and she was willingly there with him. One hand raked carelessly, desperately through her hair, forcing her lips against his own.

Buffy swam in a state of hazy confusion. Spike's mouth was on hers, his lips and tongue pillaging her mouth expertly, his hands seeming to suddenly be everywhere at once. Her hands were pinned between their bodies, flat against his muscular chest, and they needed to be elsewhere. They needed to be everywhere. Something wild rose up in her chest. She felt alive with his mouth on hers. She felt like she might never need to breathe again, and with a desperateness, she clawed against his skin. If she could only get closer. If they could just be the sum of everything and everywhere, she might never want for anything again.

"Buffy?" The voice called out in the front hallway. "It doesn't look like anyone's home," the voice added in a softer tone. "Buffy?"

Spike pulled away suddenly, his eyes wide with a mix of emotions Buffy couldn't begin to label. She felt thoroughly kissed, her lips bruised and her hair mussed. She wanted nothing else but more, more of this intoxicating feeling of freedom and exploding fireworks of need and desire. And he looked suddenly like he wanted nothing else but to be elsewhere.

"Spike?" she whispered softly, her heart breaking softly. Could she have misread everything? Could this all be some grand delusion, some misinterpretation of the situation?

His blue eyes focused on her for a moment, and they burned. She felt herself swallow despite herself, her whole body suddenly tense, responsive to nothing but the look in his eyes. She threw herself at him. Her lips warred against his, as his arms wrapped around her more tightly even than before. The force of her body against his pushed him against the wall of the staircase, their careless feet poised on the brink of thin air.

"Buffy?" The voice called once more. "I thought I heard something."

Suddenly, Spike was holding her still, his blue eyes staring straight into hers. "This is your chance, love," his voice was little more than a husky growl.

She met his gaze and pressed her lips against his in silent acceptance. His lips caught hers in a slower, softer dance. Her knees felt weak as her hands gained purchase on his bare shoulders. His strong arms swept her body even closer to his.

"I think I was wrong." The voice in the hallway said softly. "I guess we might as well keep looking somewhere else. Maybe she went back to the hospital? She's pretty upset."

The sound of the front door shutting was enough to cause Spike to pull away from her lips again, forcing a tiny mewl of need from Buffy's lips. He did everything right. Every movement, every evil little flick of his tongue or shift of his lips seemed designed to drive her wild. Every shift of his body mirrored her own. She felt like a puzzle piece that had just found its interlocking piece. How did he know…

Buffy swallowed, her green eyes riveted on his solemn gaze. "We've done this before," she whispered, realization trickling in. "I mean, in your world…" The slight incline of his head, the shift of his eyes away from her face. "We do." She said in soft wonderment. "This is what you weren't telling me…"

His eyes turned back to hers with anguish written in them. Buffy felt her jaw moving against her will. "When you said that you hurt me," a growing sense of dread rose within her, "It was because of _this_, wasn't it?"

The second his hands left her body she felt bereft. His entire presence was suddenly across the basement, leaving her alone on the staircase. He was suddenly closed off to her, the moody, foreboding aura back in place. The one she hated. His back was towards her now as he shrugged on a black t-shirt, his pale skin which only seconds ago had been open to her touch now hidden from view.

"It wasn't good," he said softly. "You weren't… you were hurting and you hated… just about everything just then. I knew it, but I was so desperate for anything. Any part of you that could be mine. And the darkness of it all just about swallowed you up, and you ended it. Unsullied by your time in the muck."

Buffy stood still, shocked by the revelation. "What do you mean?" she heard herself saying, as she slowly descended the staircase.

His shoulders were already tense, but the question seemed to make him curl in onto himself somehow. "Couldn't take no for an answer, could I?" His voice was bitter, filled with reproach. "That's why I had to get a soul. Didn't even know when I was hurting the girl."

Buffy reached out a tentative hand, surprised to see it shaking. It only rested on his shoulder for a moment, hesitant and fragile as a butterfly, before he spun on his heels, eyes blazing as he knocked her hand away. "It's not something to be sympathetic about," he growled. "I almost _rape_ you, Buffy. Don't you get that? I'm a monster. A dead thing."

Buffy felt herself shaking under the emotional onslaught of his words, the terrible sadness in his eyes. The sudden weight of his revelation was too much. He was supposed to be the support from all the other weights in her life, not the bringer of more… something inside of Buffy snapped and she did what she did best. She ran.


	11. But Will I Hold You Again?

_**In The Space Between**_

_Buffy felt herself shaking under the emotional onslaught of his words, the terrible sadness in his eyes. The sudden weight of his revelation was too much. He was supposed to be the support from all the other weights in her life, not the bringer of more… something inside of Buffy snapped and she did what she did best. She ran. _

_**Chapter 11: But Will I Hold You Again?**_

She ran. Just, not very far. Throwing herself across her bed, she immediately buried herself under her wrinkled covers and clenched her eyes shut. Perhaps if she wished hard enough and went to sleep, she would wake up and everything that had happened in the past week or so would undo itself and become nothing more than a bad dream. Stupid Spike. Stupid future Spike (who, if she were to admit it to herself, had already become completely tangled with all her perceptions of Spike-ness). Stupid hospitals. Stupid Riley. Stupid Giles for not trusting her. Stupid her for not actually being worth trusting after all.

Stupid her. That really was what it all came down to, wasn't it? Stupid her making dumb mistakes. Stupid her ignoring reality and the problems around her that she couldn't solve with a stake or a battle axe. Buffy crumpled her comforter into her arms, pulling herself into a half-reclined position. There was just too much going on right now. Where was she supposed to start? How was she supposed to make any sort of sense out of the madness of her life?

"Buffy?" The voice from earlier echoed through the downstairs hallway once again. This time, the voice seemed to have gained a little more determination, and Buffy listened to male footsteps climb the stairway. "Buffy?" Xander's voice radiated concern as he stood awkwardly in her bedroom doorway. "Have you been here the whole time?"

Buffy nodded against her covers, the heavy weight of tears blocking her throat.

"Didn't you hear me downstairs earlier?" he asked softly, walking slowly into her room and settling on the edge of her bed. "Buffy," he started, his eyes dropping to investigate the stitching on the covers that sat between them, "Buffy, you know you don't have to go through all of this alone, right?" Xander's earnest eyes met her own, and Buffy felt fresh tears prickling at her eyes. "You don't need to carry all of this on your own."

The words were too similar to Spike's from last night and she broke down yet again. "I can't stop crying," she admitted between tears. "I'm used to being strong, and suddenly its like I'm needy-Buffy all the time." She felt Xander's arm stretch itself across her shaking shoulder blades. "I mean, I… I don't know how to handle this. I…" her words were swallowed up in wracking sobs.

"Shh, Buff, it's ok." Xander pulled her into a half-hug. "We're all here with you. Remember last year? We're all here supporting you. We're all a part of your Buffy-Slayer awesomeness package deal." He paused, "I'm starting to think that maybe even that future-Spike guy might be okay to trust." Buffy hiccupped in surprise. "I know, right?" Xander said wryly. "I think I'm the last person who would willingly admit that."

Buffy pulled away from Xander, drying her eyes with her sleeves. "Do you," she hiccupped against the force of tears again, "Do you really think that?"

Xander stared at her for a long moment. "You mean about us all being here for you, or about trusting Spike?"

Buffy gave a frustrated half-smile. "Yes, I mean, both."

Xander's gaze emptied into concern. He bit his lip, "I do," he replied slowly, "But," he shook his head, "Listen, it's probably just the whole thing with Riley, but, Buffy if you're seriously…" Xander swallowed hard, "Having feelings for another vampire. Soul or no soul, you need to make sure that's something you actually are ready to go through again. I mean, and I can't believe I'm saying this," Xander's eyes slid closed, as if unable to contemplate her while saying the words, "You can't just let feeling worried about your mom control your other actions. And, I mean, its still… he's still a vampire. And he's still _Spike_. I mean, usually you wouldn't go near that with a thirty foot stake." He opened his eyes and smiled weakly, "Just saying."

Buffy regarded Xander with a thoughtful gaze. "Do you really think having a soul makes as much of a difference as Angel always said?"

Xander looked half concerned and half relieved at the lack of confirmation from Buffy on her feelings. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "but you know I never trusted Angel as far as I could throw him. Which was, you know, a lot less far than he could throw me." He gave Buffy a chagrined half-smile. "All I know is, there's a lot of people out there who do awful, horrible things _with _a soul. I mean, there are soldiers killing kids and raping women without remorse, and they've all got souls. There's petty thieves stealing things to live, and filthy rich business men cheating the system and stealing people's money just so they can buy a second island. And they all have souls. So…"

Buffy looked at Xander askance. "When did you get so smart, Xand?" she asked him playfully. Her smile faded a little. "So say someone does something terrible, how do they make amends for that?"

Xander shifted uncomfortably. "Umm, like the legal system?" he gave Buffy a corny smile. "I guess it depends what drove them to do it."

"Drove them to…" Buffy mouthed the words, tasting the bitterness of reality. The weight of choice. For so long she had been the judge and executioner of the evil in the world. Was it possible that she had forgotten that good people can do evil things? That perhaps, in some unknown future, she could be blind to the evil she herself could commit? She sat up straight, her eyes now free of tears. "Thank you, Xander." She said very clearly. "I think I needed to… remember that. That good people could do bad things. That sometimes… shit happens. Its how we move forward that matters, right?"

Xander smiled, his conscience clear. "Exactly," he wrapped Buffy's tiny hand in his own and pulled her too her feet. "Should we go get the gang together and figure out our next move?"

Buffy smiled and nodded. "But you go ahead, ok? I need to," she gestured to herself, "Put myself back together, you know?"

Xander smiled at her, giving her a hug. "You don't need to pretend that everything is ok when it isn't, Buff. We're your friends. We're here for you no matter what."

* * *

A quick shower later, Buffy was running her brush through her tangled, wet hair, muttering under her breath as her wet hair left nearly see-through wet streaks against her white t-shirt. A sense of purpose was growing within her. Her world had been shaken, but what counted was how she moved forward. How she reconstructed the pieces into a new whole. There was still time and room to put things back together in a way that was better.

She stood before the basement door, willing it to open. Finally it did, and he stood there, a tired expression on his face. "Just going to stand there all day, pet?" he asked in his trademark sardonic voice.

"What did I do?" she demanded, very clearly, though the waver in her voice was unmistakable. "I drove you to it, didn't I? I'm an expert on these things. I've read… I've read all the books and all the Watcher's guides when it comes to you, and you did horrible, awful things… but never that." She might never forget the look of surprise on his face.

"You read… all…" he was stumbling for words, his shock evident.

"All of them," she replied firmly. "Pays to know your enemy, right?"

She watched him gather himself back together, reassuming the mask of bravado he wore. It was amazing, when exactly had she finally figured out that it was a mask? "Didn't know you cared so much, Slayer," he droned.

"Yes, you do," she said slowly. "And I want an answer. What the hell did I do to push you to that? It wasn't all you. It couldn't have been. I know myself and I…" she ran out of steam. She bit her lip and turned her head slightly, just so she wouldn't have to stare into his eyes. "I know I can be a bitch, and more than a little… self-righteous. I did something stupid didn't I? Or maybe… maybe even multiple somethings. I know… I thought of you… without the soul… I treated you like garbage. And I can't imagine that would have changed any time soon without knowing you with a soul and seeing how… exactly the same you really are."

Silence reigned in the hallway. When Buffy finally found the strength to look up, Spike was staring right at her, an expression of honest awe and confusion spread across his features. "I'm really not in Kansas anymore," he said softly, just under his breath. "You're nothing like her. Buffy… my Buffy… never would…"

"So maybe I'm not exactly like her," Buffy said softly. "Maybe she was a huge mega-bitch and I'm not. The question is can you deal with that?" She stared at him, hoping that her expression was conveying the no-nonsense approach she was going for, and not the melty-Buffy she was feeling, which seemed to feel… a certain empathy for him. The world was coming off its rockers, and they had to reassemble it into something that made sense. Even if it was a sense that completely countered everything they'd ever known before.

"I forgive you," Buffy heard herself breathe. "Whatever happened between that me and you, I forgive you. I forgive that me. And right now… right now I need you to pull yourself together and stop living in that past. There are things… big things that we need to deal with now, and things are happening differently very quickly. I need you to be in the game, and I'm going to need your help with whatever happens." She paused, fighting the part of her that was insistently reminding her of what had happened in very nearly the same spot just a few hours ago. "And whatever happens," she gestured to the space between them, "Here. That's going to happen. But right now, I… we need to get through everything with my mom. And everything with Glory. And we need to find Illyria."

Spike couldn't breathe. Not that he needed to, but it was really second-nature to do it. A habit he'd never given up and had, in fact, encouraged through all his years of smoking. But right now, breath failed him. Thought failed him actually. In fact, he was pretty sure that every sense of perception he had was failing him in every way except for the one small space occupied by Buffy and her earnest eyes. Her voice rose and fell in his ears and while he knew there was more being said, his entire being seemed to fixate on six little words. "I forgive you. I need you." And like a mantra, they repeated on and on, reverberating through his being, freeing him. Whatever crumb he'd ever claimed to want had been given. It was up to him to accept it. To ask then, for the whole cookie, should it ever seem plausible. "We," she said. "We," as if there were such a thing as he and her together. He blinked. She was looking at him expectantly.

"Come on," she said finally, extending a hand to him. "We're meeting at Giles' place, and the sun's pretty much down anyway. You might as well come with. We need your insight, and I need… well I need pretty much whatever you have to offer."

She'd left herself open to a simply wonderful double entendre, but Spike felt his hand numbly accept her own, letting the joke go (at least this once), just so he didn't spoil this fragile moment of trust. He felt her pull him up the remaining stair from the basement. "Come on," she whispered softly, her breath catching in her throat in a delicate way that seemed to set him on fire.

With his free hand, he brushed away the few strands of her damp hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Right then," he said finally. "Lead the way."


	12. These Fickle, Fuddled Words Confuse Me

_**In The Space Between**_

Writer's Note: You've got it, Miravisu. I'm hoping to power through this baby straight through to a satisfying conclusion. I've let her sit for far too long… Thank you also, Rhiannon. You have both convinced me that there are still people who want to read this ancient little beastie.

"_Come on," she whispered softly, her breath catching in her throat in a delicate way that seemed to set him on fire._

_With his free hand, he brushed away the few strands of her damp hair that had fallen over her eyes. "Right then," he said finally. "Lead the way."_

_**Chapter 12: These Fickle, Fuddled Words Confuse Me**_

"I'm a bit confused," Buffy admitted, as she strolled through Giles' front door. "Usually I encounter _something_ on my way over here at this time of night."

"Calm before the storm, pet," Spike replied, shifting on his feet as he stared through the door's opening into the warmth of the living room's light.

"And you would know how exactly?" Xander quipped from inside the living room, where he stood looking very unhappy about the massive text held open in his arms.

Spike glared at him dispassionately. "What don't you people understand about the phrase, "demon dimension"?"

"What _do _they…" Giles muttered just under his voice, raising his gaze from the tiny script that sat on the table before him. "Please, Spike, come in. I believe you had mentioned at some point… or perhaps it was the previous you… that you know several demon languages? I could use another pair of eyes to look through the As'karana texts. There's…"

"Thirty volumes," Spike finished dully. "Don't tell me you have all of them, Watcher."

"Oh, but I do!" Giles replied, an expression of pride across his face as his mistook Spike's knowledge for appreciation. "In nearly pristine condition, as well. In the original…"

Spike shook his head. "You sure get your jollies in strange ways," he muttered, picking up one of the slim, nearly indecipherable texts anyway.

Xander stared at the exchange. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean, all this time, fang-boy could have been _helping with the reading_?"

From the couch, Willow choked back a laugh, while Anya pursed her lips. "Why should he have?" she asked her boyfriend in a surprisingly serious tone. "We didn't exactly give that Spike any incentive to help us, did we?" she added. "No monetary compensation, no respect for his knowledge or skills. _I _wouldn't have helped us either."

From behind the volume he held, Spike's gaze lifted to Anya. "Thank you," he said pointedly. "Why exactly is it these wankers don't listen to you more often, pet?"

Anya shrugged, "Lack of resource-usage savvy."

Xander stared back and forth between his girlfriend and the vampire, sputtering slightly. "What the…" he sighed, "You know what? I'm just going to accept that I'm wrong here somehow for some reason." He sat back down beside Anya, rubbing his temples.

Anya smiled at him in delight. "You're learning so well!" she said brightly, giving him a hug that lingered just a little too long. "Guess who's going to get sex tonight?"

Willow shifted just a little further away from the couple, meeting Tara's warm gaze with a weak smile. Their hands interlaced somewhere in the space between the couch and the armchair.

* * *

Buffy let out a long sigh, slowly uncrossing and then re-crossing her legs where they rested lightly on the top of Giles' dining room table, pointedly ignoring her mentor's disapproving stare. "Ok," she said finally, "We've been at this for hours. What exactly are we looking for and how is it going to help us any more than what Spike's already told us?"

Every pair of eyes in the room swung to Giles in search of an excuse to leave the dusty tomes in their laps. "Well," Giles sputtered slightly, removing his glasses to rub at them with an old, soft cloth, "We know that in the other dimension, Buffy was able to use the Dagon sphere and Olaf's hammer to help dispose of Glory, but also that this didn't necessarily kill her. Either we need to figure out how she was ultimately disposed of and by whom in that reality, or we need to find our own method."

"Don't see why you don't just kill Ben," Spike interjected. "I'm almost sure that's how Glory was off-ed in my world. Never came out in my world, but I'm sure someone with some guts managed it."

"Kill Ben?" several voices gasped in horror. "Why on earth would we kill that poor guy?" Xander added. "What the hell does he have to do with this?" Giles demanded. Only Buffy sat silent, her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she listened to Spike. "Are we entirely sure he's not at all evil anymore?" Tara's whisper to Willow echoed in Buffy's ears. She watched Spike wince at that one. He looked tired again. They'd been through something like this several times now, she was certain of it.

"Ben is Glory," Spike ground out, spitting the words like bullets. "Glory is Ben." He glared at the people clustered on the couch and armchairs from where he leaned in the doorway of the kitchen. "Why can't you lot get it through your thick skulls?"

"I don't understand."

"That… can't be right."

"Wait. Ben _knows_ Glory?"

The chorus of voices was too much for Buffy as well. "What about patrol?" she interjected suddenly, much to everyone's surprise. Spike rose an eyebrow at her. "I think that me and Spike should go patrol. Don't you, Spike?" she added, a tense, half-smile on her face as she addressed him, "Let's go patrol." The group watched in confusion as Buffy literally dragged the vampire out into the night with her.

"Well, that was weird," Xander said finally.

"Understatement of the year," Willow added. "What exactly do you think Ben has to do with any of this?"

* * *

"You've mentioned the Ben thing before," Buffy said seriously, before they had gotten too far down the block. She listened to his tired sigh before she continued. "That's Glory's only weak link, isn't it?" she pressed on. "I can't quite wrap my head around what you keep trying to explain. It's like the second I get it, I lose it again. So, I'm just going to trust you to keep it straight, ok?"

He was staring at her again. She was starting to get used to the strange pressure of his gaze when he was surprised by something she said or did. The Buffy he'd known must have been significantly different, at least the frequency of this particular look seemed to suggest it. "It's a spell," he said finally. "Near as I can figure. We had trouble with it in my dimension too." He paused, "But, yeah, this must be the third or fourth time we've gone through that detail since I've gotten here."

"Sounds frustrating," Buffy replied sympathetically. "And you know what's best for dealing with frustrating?" She met Spike's wary gaze this time as she smiled, "Killing evil things."

His grin was worth the awfulness of the joke.

* * *

She had already begun to mirror his movements, Buffy realized with a start, as they tackled a small cluster of vampires they had flushed out of a particularly dusty crypt. It was as if he knew exactly how to read her, and she was almost there. Every smirk and lift of his eyebrow, every twitch in his form was a message she could decipher with ease. They only had one stake, she had realized after they'd already begun the attack. It turned out to be less of a problem than she'd anticipated. She had taken out the first vampire, and the moment her hand had drawn back from the exploding cloud of dust, Spike had gently plucked the weapon from her hand and sent it home into the second vamp. Without missing a beat, she had swung around, tackling the third enemy. A quick jump kick and a few punches later, she found herself wishing she'd argued about keeping the stake. And then she heard Spike call her name. A rapid jerk of her head, and the vampire standing between her and Spike was a small explosion and a stake was flying at her, and into her waiting hand.

The rest of the fight passed just as quickly, the stake flying back and forth as quickly as she and Spike did across the damp grass. Within moments, they stood alone in the cemetery. Buffy gasped for breath, staring at Spike in shock, "That was… amazing." She said finally, between deep breaths, "We're awesome."

Spike replied with a grin, "Duck, love."

Buffy watched him with amazement from her crouched position on the ground, not even looking behind her to check if the stake had met its mark in the vampire who had been attempting to sneak up behind her. "Seriously," she continued, accepting his hand as he pulled her up, "We are awesome!"

"You've really no idea, Slayer," he replied with a self-satisfied smirk. His hand lingered on hers just an instant longer than they needed to, but Buffy found herself really not minding.

She wondered if her type of cookie had chocolate chips in it.


	13. Will It Rain Today?

_**In The Space Between**_

"_You've really no idea, Slayer," he replied with a self-satisfied smirk. His hand lingered on hers just an instant longer than they needed to, but Buffy found herself really not minding. _

_She wondered if her type of cookie had chocolate chips in it. _

_**Chapter 13: Will It Rain Today?**_

Illyria stalked through the night with purpose. The house was small and unassuming, but she sensed the minor power moving about within it. Doors meant nothing to her, and she flung this one open.

"Oh Glorificus," an elderly voice began, pausing suddenly. A loud sniff punctuated the air, as an old man appeared at the end of the hallway. "You are not Glorificus," the old man said with certainty, his dark eyes betraying him. "You smell… older," the old man inhaled deeply, "And _stronger_."

"I am both, lizard," Illyria confirmed, walking into the home. "I am greater than Glorificus in every respect." She stared at the old man, her eyes calculating value and worth. "I have a pet," she began, turning away from the old man to enter into the study he had so recently occupied. "He is a vampire, and he has strayed from me."

"Fool," the man spat. "To leave your side is…"

"Enough," Illyria interrupted, raising a hand in the man's direction without even turning to glance at him. "I expected this outcome when we entered this time dimension." Her hands ran slowly over a series of small, metallic globes. Each globe glowed with a unique colour as her hand dusted over its surface. She paused, her hand floating lightly over a sphere that had momentarily glowed pink, "I consider it his reward for services rendered."

The old man stared at her mutely, his dark eyes widening as the being before him interacted with the magical items strewn throughout the study.

"Love," she said the word as if tasting it. She directed her gaze, and her touch to an exquisitely carved arrow which perched haphazardly upon a shelf. "It is his prime motivator." She ran a single fingertip along the arrow head, stopping just short of the wickedly sharp tip.

"Foolish," the old man replied gruffly. "Love is a pleasant fiction, but only for the weak…"

"Is it?" Illyria interjected, her question arcing through the air as her eyes fell upon the man. "Is it so foolish, lizard? I have watched humans for several years now, and never so closely as in the last few days, but I am always shocked by the power of this love they feel. It works more powerfully upon them than anything else I have yet witnessed."

The old man wrinkled his nose, "Fear, I find, is much more powerful."

Illyria smiled darkly, "Yet I have seen love trump fear. I have seen love motivate humans to acts of goodness they could not otherwise fathom, and acts of evil they would have rather never dreamt up."

The old man looked confused. "Whatever you have seen, your greatness, I am certain is the truth," he pandered.

"Don't attempt to placate me," Illyria replied cuttingly. "I could destroy you in a heartbeat, lizard. Do not make me want to." The old man cowered slightly in response, the edge of his robe riding up his shoulders as he hunched, the curve of a scaled, green tail swishing momentarily across the floor.

"I believe," Illyria said slowly, letting the words fall like a slow rain upon the shaman's simple mind, "That there is something greater at work than good and evil." The old man started, his eyes wide with confusion. "Some moving force that is guiding things. Power untapped."

The lizard stared at her suspiciously. "What could be greater than good or evil?" he asked quietly, his voice hoarse with fear. "Both are more ancient than the world."

Illyria paused, her fingers tapping against a silvered knife, its hilt elegantly carved into the tortured forms of werewolves in their death throes. "But beings can choose between good and evil," Illyria said, her voice questioning the universe itself, probing for secrets she had yet to understand. "There is some force, something _other_ which animates. Which brings death. Which brings life." Her voice hardened to cold steel, "I wish to understand it. To know its power."

The old man leaned forward, rapt. "Power of that magnitude, the animating force of the universe, you believe," he paused, considering his words, "It can be tapped into?"

"Perhaps," Illyria nodded, her eyes focused darkly on something beyond line of sight. "At the moment," Illyria continued, her gaze once again falling across the old man's collection, "You worship Glorificus." Her hand stilled upon a tiny copper dragon. Her eyes closed momentarily, a wicked smile playing across her lips. She released the figure with reluctance and moved on, a slight sashay to her hips. "I offer you something greater." The old man shuffled slightly forward, the fear in his movements masked by eagerness. "I offer you power," Illyria said silkenly, turning to the old man once again, "If you agree to be my pet."

The old man's eyes slid to complete blackness. "I would love nothing more," he replied, his voice dripping venomous sincerity. He was nothing, if not an opportunist.


	14. Wasted Hours With Talking

_**In The Space Between**_

"_I offer you power," Illyria said silkenly, turning to the old man once again, "If you agree to be my pet."_

_The old man's eyes slid to complete blackness. "I would love nothing more," he replied, his voice dripping venomous sincerity. He was nothing, if not an opportunist. _

_**Chapter 14: Wasted Hours With Talking**_

Buffy stared at the young woman in confusion, "Why would I know where your boyfriend is?"

The woman sighed, running a hand through her brown hair, "Because Warren is possibly the most amazing man in the entire world."

Buffy looked from the woman to Spike who simply shrugged back at her, "Don't look at me, pet. Don't think anyone's ever said that about me." Buffy graced him with a small smile, shaking her head slightly.

"If you don't know where he is, I really must insist upon continuing to look for him," the woman continued, apparently unconcerned with their gentle disbelief.

"How about we help you find him, instead?" Buffy asked softly. "Where did you see him last?"

"Well, usually we live in Dutton, but I woke up and he wasn't there," she smiled widely at Buffy, "He probably just forgot to tell me where to meet him."

"Or," Spike added under his breath, "He decided to upgrade to a newer model and decided to chicken out of…" The slap rang out across the darkened street. "Bloody hell," Spike spat, staggering backwards slightly from the force of the blow.

"Do _not_ talk about my Warren that way!" the young woman shrieked. "Warren is good and honest and wonderful and handsome. He would never leave me." She stomped her foot impatiently, "You will definitely not be helpful!" Without a look back, she began to walk away, her head held at a fiercely defiant angle.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Getting a little soft there, Spike?" she asked dryly. "Staggering after getting hit by a girl?"

Spike glared at her, gingerly touching his cheekbone. "She doesn't hit like a girl," he muttered. "Hits like a Slayer."

Buffy's grin melted away in an instant. "What?" she prompted, her hand unconsciously finding its way to his cheek, practiced fingertips searching for signs of fracture. "What do you mean she hits like a Slayer? Like, Slayer strength or Slayer training?"

For a moment, she feared for him, as his eyes glazed over slightly at her touch. She couldn't know how much her concern meant, how deep her earnest eyes affected him. "Slayer strength," he replied finally, his eyes clearing as he hissed in pain.

"It's just bruised, you big baby," Buffy replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm more concerned about how a girl like that gets Slayer strength." She paused, her mind working in overdrive. "We'd better take this one to Giles."

* * *

Buffy stepped first into the warmth of the living room lights at Giles' place. "Giles?" she called, even before looking around the room, "We've got one for the books." She paused, stepping lightly out of the way just before Spike could walk into her. "Ok," she said with a grim smile, "What the hell is _he _doing here? And since when do we call Scoobie meetings without me?"

"Buffy," Giles replied nervously, "Riley has expressed certain, perhaps valid, concerns…"

"Yeah, and I thought we, I dunno, dealt with those?" Buffy's voice was terse as she regarded the still-bandaged man who sat in one of the armchairs.

Under his breath, Riley was muttering something to Xander, pointedly looking in her direction. Buffy felt herself losing control. Not only was her mother still in a coma, some rogue Slayer strength-possessing weirdo with a boyfriend obsession wandering around Sunnydale, but apparently, her best friends felt that they had better take advice from the ex-boyfriend who had not only bailed on her, but also thought it best to stake-first, ask-questions-later upon his unwanted return. "What?" she grated out, from between her teeth, "What is it, Riley? Spying on me again? Some super important observation that only you can make?" She moved forward menacingly, her eyes flashing danger.

"I was just pointing out that he held the door open for you," Riley said calmly, gesturing towards Spike.

"Seriously?" Buffy exclaimed, frustration colouring her tone. "In what possible way is that relevant to anything?"

The room was silent. "I…I think…h-he was j-j-just surprised b-by it," Tara said softly, a voice of reason in the wilds of Buffy's temper.

"Oh," Buffy amended, deflating from her attack mode.

"I just, wanted to see everyone," Riley said lamely. "I wanted to apologize for not saying goodbye."

Buffy blinked, staring around the room for a long moment. "Seriously?" She exclaimed again, in disbelief, "But… they're not your friends…"

"Being in the military changes your perspective, sometimes," Riley said quietly, his eyes having dropped to study the fibers of the carpet.

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, her eyes lingering on the sling he still wore wrapped around his arm. "I need…" she started, her voice wobbling, "I need to… not be here." She turned on her heel and bolted for the door.

Spike stared after her fleeing figure and sighed heavily. He looked back at the cluster of people sitting in the living room. "For the record, Whitebread," he said drily, "I probably would have staked me too." He disappeared before the room full of astonished faces could form a sentence.

* * *

"Dutton, you said?" Willow looked at Buffy with a contemplative look in her eyes. "There's a technical college in Dutton, but not much else." She wrinkled her forehead in thought, "But you said the girl was highly repetitive, right?"

Buffy nodded sullenly, her posture still radiating displeasure at her best friend.

Willow sighed, leaning over in her chair to face her. "Listen, Buffy, I'm sorry about the Riley thing, ok? We all are. We know things didn't end well there, but he had some… interesting things to say. Important things. You need to give him a chance to explain himself."

"Like he gave me a chance before he ran back to military," Buffy finished curtly, raising her hands to cut off Willow's interjections. "No, no, I get it. He's the clean-cut military type. None of you saw what I saw, ok? None of you… got hurt the way I did. And seriously, you guys all need to lay off the Spike thing."

"We didn't talk about Spike," Willow replied. "I mean, really Buffy, we do trust you. He's physically stronger than we are. It makes… well, it kinda makes sense that you patrol with him. Him staying in your basement is kinda weird, but… you've got a lot going on. And he doesn't seem, quite as… obsessive as the other Spike was?" Willow's voice trailed off into question as she gazed at Buffy.

Buffy gave Willow a half-smile, "I just… I guess I keep expecting some weird backlash from you guys over him. I don't… It's not like there's anything going on, we're just friends." A small part of Buffy screamed in disagreement. Friends do not have intense make out sessions in the basement in the dark. Of course, people who are more than friends probably do it more than once and don't apologize for it happening afterwards, so maybe she wasn't really lying after all. She sighed, "It's just…" she feigned another smile, "Well, _I_ never thought I'd say that I was friends with Spike."

Willow smiled back at her, "Hey, if Xander had figured out that Spike could help with the research load, I think he would have been a lot nicer to him from the start."

Buffy laughed, a free laugh that came from somewhere inside of her, bursting through the tenseness of her feigned happy mood. It felt good to laugh. Things were so on edge, with her mom still lying in that hospital bed, no matter that her life signs were stable and the doctors all so optimistic. Dawn was a wreck, bouncing back and forth between the house and Janice's every day or so as Buffy tried to fit in patrols. There was so much to worry about.

"Wait a sec," Willow said suddenly, "Didn't Spike mention something about a robot girl, back when he was narrating everything? He brushed over it pretty quickly but… Dutton College does have a robotics program."

"Wouldn't he have recognized her?" Buffy asked softly, peering at the computer screen with concern. "I mean, if he'd seen her before…"

Willow shrugged, "Maybe it was dark. Maybe he didn't actually get a good look at her first time around. He said he wasn't all that involved, remember? It's not the same. And there's differences between this dimension and his anyway, remember?"

Buffy frowned, suspicion rising in her. "Maybe," she replied uncertainly. "Or maybe he's hiding something."

Not that Buffy got a chance to pursue that line of thought. In an ear-splitting instant, the phone rang. "Dawnie," Buffy called from the dining room where she and Willow were spread out across the table, "Can you get the phone?"

"Do I have to?" Dawn's voice carried down the stairs.

"Fine!" Buffy yelled irately, walking the extra few steps to the hallway phone. "Hello?" she demanded.

"Uh, yes, may I please speak to Buffy Summers?" the male voice stammered, alarmed at the violence of the greeting.

"Speaking," Buffy replied tersely.

"This is Doctor Howards, your mother is awake."

Buffy felt the phone slip from her hand, as tears of relief sprung up in her eyes. "Dawnie!" she called, her voice instantly softer and brighter, "Mom's awake!"

* * *

Spike watched the Summers girls crowded around their mother's hospital bed. It was a scene he was watching too much lately, but at the same time, relief coursed through his system every time he saw it. He may have mucked plenty of things up since arriving in this time, but at least this one thing he did right. Averting Joyce's death… on some level it meant more to him than any and every crumb Buffy had given him of late. Seeing the relieved smile on her face and listening to Dawn speaking at length about the merits of getting ice cream the second Joyce was released was enough to make the soddingly sentimental parts of him rise to the surface and wax lyrical. So he looked away from the room. Better to spare the world that sort of torture.

"I should probably get going," Buffy's voice carried out to him, the note of regret in her voice achingly clear, "There's patrol to do."

Spike took a few decisive steps, lingering in the doorway to Joyce's room. "Take the night off, pet," he heard himself saying, "Stay with your mum. I'll handle the baddies for one night."

For a moment, she looked both surprised and ready to protest. Her mother took the lead though. "Oh, would you Spike?" the grateful tone of her voice melted his undead heart. "It feels like its been ages since I've had any time with the girls, and..." she trailed off, an expression on sincere appreciation written across her features.

"Do what I can," he shrugged, settling his shoulder in the doorframe in feigned nonchalance. "Like seeing you awake and happy. S'the way it should be."

"It totally is!" Dawn added, "Which is why when we get home…"

"Which isn't until the day after tomorrow," Buffy added firmly.

Dawn rolled her eyes, "_When_ we get home, we totally need a girl's night. Ice cream, sappy movies, ice cream...definitely no homework," she continued to ramble, her mother and Buffy nodding along knowingly. Spike left the trio with a small smile on his face. Seeing them happy and together was more than he had ever dreamed of. He only hoped that he wasn't going to wake up at some point only to discover the past month to have been nothing more than a dream, and nothing but dust and despair and the harsh bitterness of that failed reality to seep back in. He wasn't sure he could survive it again.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he did not actually spot the strangely-clad woman until he very nearly walked into her. "Blue?" he gasped, "Where the bloody hell have you been?"

Illyria shrugged, "I need not answer to you."

Spike sighed, "Wasn't really expecting an answer."

Illyria looked at him askance, through eyes that assessed him clearly and critically. "I have been conducting experiments," she began, falling into step alongside him as they continued on their way out of the hospital. "Observation mostly, at least thus far. I have a theory that there is something greater at work than merely good and evil. I mean to figure out what it is exactly."

Spike watched her warily from the corner of his eye. "Not been hurtin' anyone in the Slayer's town, have you?" his tone was low but conveyed his concerns.

"No one has been injured or unduly affected by my actions," she assured him. "Though your loyalties have obviously come into question." She stared at him through unblinking eyes. "You _are_ hers, then?"

Spike hesitated. "To be honest," he paused, running his hand through his hair and feeling the gel becoming unstuck, "It'd be better for her if I just left…"

"No." Illyria interjected. "That would be entirely unsatisfactory and would be to the detriment of you both. If you have not convinced yourself to stay, then I will depart again until you have." She turned slightly, angling herself so that even as she walked through the hospital doors, she was set out across the parking lot at an entirely different angle than Spike had been intending.

Spike blinked, "What the bloody…" he ran across the space that had formed between himself and the demon god. "You mean you want me to stay with Buffy?"

Illyria gave a long-suffering sigh, "It _is_ what you want, vampire. I am not heartless and you've already provided dutiful and loyal service. Never once did I question your loyalty to me, except where the Slayer comes into the equation. At that point it becomes clear that your heart will never allow you to follow anyone but her." She shrugged, "And with her you are an equal, not a mere pet. Thus it is only logical that you remain here, in this time, with the Slayer. It is an improvement in your situation and hers, and eliminates any sense of competition. I can't bear to be in apparent competition with a mortal. It's… degrading."

She continued to walk, "Besides which, I find you to be a fascinating study in the theory of love. I am attempting to isolate the factors that inspire the emotion. There is a connection to that primal power I seek, I am just uncertain of what that connection is." She paused, "But I will."

Spike ran another hand through his hair, heedless of the effects. "Blue, I…"

"I don't really expect you to understand," Illyria added in a softer tone, turning to face the vampire. "But you are needed more by her than by myself at the moment, and I am a generous and just god. If I have need of you, I will find you. In the meantime, my plans are best served by remaining without you. Your connections to the Slayer are too well known. Any known affiliation between yourself and I is unnecessary and may interfere with my research." She nodded stiffly, "Goodbye, vampire, at least for now."


	15. These Wicked Games We're Playing

_**In The Space Between**_

"_I don't really expect you to understand," Illyria added in a softer tone, turning to face the vampire. "But you are needed more by her than by myself at the moment, and I am a generous and just god. If I have need of you, I will find you. In the meantime, my plans are best served by remaining without you. Your connections to the Slayer are too well known. Any known affiliation between yourself and I is unnecessary and may interfere with my research." She nodded stiffly, "Goodbye, vampire, at least for now."_

_**Chapter 15: These Twisted Games We're Playing**_

Buffy watched her sister literally cling to her mother as the three of them made pancakes on Saturday morning. "Can we do smiley faces?" Dawn inquired, her expression one of earnest and relieved joy.

"Of course," their mother replied. Her voice was light and bemused. Buffy didn't think that her mother had ever spent so much uninterrupted time with her daughters since they were children. She didn't think she had ever seen her mother this happy in years either though.

Buffy smiled, walking over to her sister and gently placing an elbow on Dawn's shoulder, feigning propping herself up. "What about what I want?" she demanded playfully. "What if I want… squiggly worms?"

Dawn stuck her tongue out in response as Joyce laughed – a clear and pain-free sound that almost brought tears to Buffy's eyes. "Oh, do you remember," she began, her maternal smile shining on her daughters, "When Dawn first came up with that one?"

Dawn pouted, "Mom! I was like.. three."

Buffy nodded, "Exactly. You were adorable back then." She raised an eyebrow, looking Dawn up and down critically, "What happened?"

Dawn stuck her tongue out again at her sister. Buffy decided to respond with the same childish gesture.

The phone ringing interrupted their antics, and Buffy watched her mother shake her head slightly as she answered the phone. "Oh, yes, hello Willow," her mother said, "Yes, I'm feeling quite fantastic. All the quality mother-daughter time is wonderful." She paused, a bemused expression on her lips. "No, Buffy hasn't been doing patrols – Spike has been covering them for her so we could spend more time together." She raised an eyebrow at whatever Willow said next, directing a look at Buffy that seemed strangely knowing.

"What?" Buffy sputtered. "What is she saying?"

Her mother smiled. "Yes," she replied into the receiver, "I think I probably could spare her for one evening." She handed the phone over to Buffy, "Willow and Xander are organizing a night out at The Bronze. All of you deserve a break."

Buffy chewed her lip, anxiety on her features. "Hi Wills," she said into the receiver. "Yeah, I'm game," she frowned, looking at her mother. She pulled the receiver away from her face for a moment and mouthed, "Are you sure you want me to go?" Her mother rolled her eyes and nodded vigorously. "OK, sounds good. I'll see you guys at 8 then." She hung up the phone, pausing for a moment.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she finally said, despite herself.

"Buffy!" her mother replied in consternation. "I love all of the attention, I really do, but you can't spend all of your time with your old mother. You deserve to go have some fun with your friends."

Buffy looked hesitant, but finally relented. It had been an awfully long time since she had gone out and simply had some fun with her friends.

* * *

Eight o'clock rolled around and Buffy was still humming and hawing over her decision to go out. Her eyes spoke volumes about her fears. Losing her mother was quite possibly the most terrifying thought she had ever had to face. "Don't look so glum, Slayer," Spike said softly, walking up behind her as she stared contemplatively at her reflection in the mirror. "I'll keep an eye on your mum. She looks so much as peakish, I'll come get you."

Buffy turned around to face him, "Are you sure?" she asked, her expression tense. "I feel like you've been doing so much for me… and for us lately."

He shrugged as if it were all nothing. "Don't have much else to do, do I now?" he replied. "Blue's made it pretty clear she doesn't want to be tracked. Don't exactly relate to things the way the me of this time did, so I can't exactly show up to a poker game and pretend everything is the same." He looked contemplative for a moment, "Probably would have to off a few of my old poker buddies at this point."

Buffy watched him with questioning eyes. No one had ever been there for her the way Spike had been the last few weeks. The kiss they had shared weighed heavily on her mind. He was so careful to avoid any mention of it or any similarities to the moment. But his eyes burned when they looked at her. His expression was unmistakable. She almost wished, in a strangely wistful way, that this Spike were as cocky and arrogant as the old one had been. She wouldn't mind another kiss from him. Truth to be told, there were a lot of things she wouldn't mind from him.

But like hell was she going to make a move on Spike. That whole idea was just out of the question.

"Besides," he was continuing, "Been ages since I've had any of those mini marshmallows."

"But we have plenty," Joyce finished, coming down the hall behind him. "Buffy," she reprimanded, "It's already five after eight. You're going to be late." She turned to Spike, "You, however, are more than welcome to some hot cocoa."

Buffy watched Spike's expression melt into one of utter peace. "Thank you, Joyce," he murmured, "Think I'll go help myself. Sounds like Dawn's experimenting with something in the microwave." He nodded at Joyce's suddenly stricken face, "Don't worry, doesn't sound like its exploded yet."

His disappeared down the hall like a shadow, his voice greeting Dawn and inquiring curiously about whatever she was concocting in the kitchen meandering down the hallway to Buffy's ears.

"He's been awfully good to us," Joyce observed. She looked earnestly at Buffy. "Any particular reason why?

Buffy sighed. "I… I don't know really. I mean, there's all the… everything, but…" she shrugged her arms helplessly.

Joyce stared at her for a long moment. "I'm thinking of asking him to babysit Dawn on Thursday."

"For your date?" Buffy asked, surprised.

"Well, you should get back to your patrolling and spend some time with your friends. And," Joyce smiled, "Face it. He's wonderful with her."

Buffy looked askance at her mother. "Yeah," she admitted finally, "He kinda is."

* * *

Spike watched Dawn as she animatedly stabbed mini marshmallows with toothpicks. "So," she began, her eyes focused on the marshmallows, "Then we connected them like this." A twisting tower was rapidly forming under her fingers, "Though we had, like, coloured marshmallows, to represent the different nucleotides, so you're just gonna have to imagine that they're different colours. But, like, pink always goes with blue and green always goes with yellow. So just, try to picture that." She brandished the double helix with gusto, "And voila! DNA!"

Spike smirked at her, "And what's it do?"

Dawn hesitated for a moment, "Uh… umm… we took notes on it?" she squeaked helplessly. Spike stared at her, letting his eyes convey a single idea: unimpressed. "OK, OK," she admitted, "It's, uh, something to do with cells. Like, DNA is the genetic material. So… that's like the… blueprints. So everything in the cell is programmed into the DNA. It's kinda like building plans."

Spike nodded, "Sounds ingenious."

Dawn quirked an eyebrow, "Are you seriously interested in this stuff?"

He shrugged as Joyce re-entered the kitchen. "Didn't 'xactly teach that sort of thing when I was in school, kitten. S'all news to me." He raised an eyebrow at Joyce, "So, babysitter, huh?"

Joyce nodded gracefully. "One of the doctors asked me to go to dinner with him," her cheeks flushed lightly pink as Spike smirked at her knowingly, "And Dawn would probably react better to spending time with you than Mr. Giles."

"Oh," Dawn's mouth was a perfect pink circle, "Really? Spike, would you be my babysitter? Oh please, oh please, oh please? With a cherry on top? It'll be, like, totally awesome." She stared up at him, holding her breath. "I'llevenmaybestudy," she promised in a rush of words.

Spike smiled, nodding at Joyce, "I'd love to, mum." His blue eyes sparkled with happiness. He felt at home for the first time in a very long time.

* * *

Buffy had not been at the Bronze long when she spotted Riley. "I can't believe he's still hanging around here," she spat viciously to Willow. "I don't want to see him, what part of that doesn't he get?"

Willow nibbled thoughtfully on the straw in her glass. "You'll be surprised by what he has to say," she said softly.

"Why don't you just tell me, instead?" Buffy replied cheerily.

Willow smiled weakly. "I don't think it should work like that," she stumbled a little on her words, "It's not my story to tell." She left Buffy's side then, drifting back over to Tara. The two ducked their heads together, smiling and exchanging something that caused them to both blush.

They looked happy together, Buffy mused. She was only a little jealous. And lonely. And ridiculously torn up in her feelings about their new… what? House-vampire? Spike was integrating himself into her family at a rapid pace. Pretty soon, she was certain, it'd get difficult to imagine their lives without him. And… maybe she didn't really want to. He was a comfortable presence in their lives. He took care of them. Buffy rubbed her hands across her arms. It'd been a long time since anyone had taken that particular task upon themselves.

"Hey there," a male voice announced, slipping an arm around her waist and spinning her towards the bar just behind them. "You're standing all alone, and I thought to myself, a pretty girl like that shouldn't be alone and without a drink." He smiled winningly down at her, but Buffy could smell the alcohol on his breath. His hand was hot and clammy on the small of her back.

"I'm fine, actually, thank you," she replied politely, pulling herself away slightly.

The guy looked abashed. "Listen," he leaned conspiratorially close. "It took my friends about twenty minutes to talk me into coming over to talk to you. You're…" he paused, looking her up and down in an earnest way, "Absolutely stunning. I would be honoured if you would let me buy you a drink. And then I'll leave you alone, if you still think I'm just a complete creep."

A small part of Buffy felt flattered. A larger part felt like dismissing the guy simply for not having blue eyes and a British accent. She sighed softly, "Yeah, ok," she acceded, following him up to the bar. She looked at the guy with a little sympathy, "What's your name?" she asked, even as she placed an order for Coke. No, no alcohol. Alcohol and Buffy were non-mixy things.

"Mark," the guy replied, smiling. "I don't usually go out dancing," he admitted. "It's not really my scene. I'm more of a… libraries and coffee shops kind of guy."

Buffy found herself smiling only weakly for him as he spoke. It felt just awkward. Like she was simply being polite.

"Buffy," a familiar voice said behind her, "Nice to see you with a human guy for once."

Buffy rolled her eyes, spinning on her heel even as her jaw tightened in reaction. "What do you _want_, Riley?" she demanded. Her eyes flashed fire.

He looked chastened, "I'm sorry," he sputtered, "I really didn't mean that…"

"Who's this guy?" Mark inquired, leaning forward as if to protect her from the poor guy with an arm in a sling. "And what the hell is he talking about?"

"Just my ex," Buffy smiled sweetly.

"Oh," Mark said, deflating slightly as he looked Riley up and down and came to the rapid conclusion that he simply could _not _compare. "I'll, uh, let you two sort out… your stuff… of whatever." He disappeared into the crowd before Buffy could even glance back at him.

Riley shuffled his feet a little awkwardly, "Listen, Buffy, that just came out… wrong." He ran his free hand across his forehead, rubbing his eyes in a tired way.

"I dunno," Buffy sneered. "Sounds like it came out just the way you intended it to."

"Hey, I'm not the only one who decides who gets to live or die on a daily basis!" Riley exploded suddenly. "You do the exact same thing every time you go on patrol. _You _decide who's living and who's dying. And to be honest, I don't see all that many living."

Buffy stared at Riley with undisguised shock. "You… you came here to lecture me about going _easier_ on demons?" She stared at him in disbelief. "You killed Spike and now you want to lecture _me_ on going easier on demons?"

"Yeah well, old habits die hard," Riley looked thoroughly defeated. "Listen, can't we just talk for a minute? I know, I've been stupid but… I saw some things with the military. And I can't, I can't un-see them."

Buffy stared at Riley for a long moment. She sighed and tightened her grip on the glass of pop she clutched in her hands. The condensation on the glass sent icy rivulets down her hand. Willow's words echoed in her head. "OK, lets go somewhere we can talk then," she said softly, caving to Willow's usually better judgment.

He ended up taking her out of the club and down the street to a nearby late-night coffee shop. The atmosphere of defeat still clung to him, which was probably the only reason Buffy agreed to follow and let his hand fall on her elbow to guide her into the shop. The warm clamminess of his palm felt sticky on her skin, and she felt like doing nothing more than shrugging his hand off of her. But she demurred. Whatever it was he needed to talk about had brought a somewhat sickly sheen to his still-healing face. The face she'd broken. Guilt was winning the war. Guilt and Willow's suggestions that she just listen.

"OK, so spill," Buffy said finally, as they waited for the waitress to bring their coffee. "What is it that you can't un-see?"

Riley took a moment to gather himself, his Adam's apple bobbing for a moment. "The military, they sent me to the Amazon. And you know how they're always saying about the uncontacted tribes that live there?" Buffy nodded in response. "Yeah, well, they aren't all human."

Buffy nodded again, unsurprised. It was well known that several types of demon gathered into groups to live and hunt and be evil. And why would the military send people there if there weren't demons?

"And they aren't all evil," Riley added, his voice thick with emotion. Buffy's eyes flew up to meet his. "They… some of them went there to live in peace, away from humans. They… they have… families. And… children. And they… we… Buffy, we murder them. They aren't hurting anyone or doing anything evil. No evil spirits or demonic worship or plots being planned. Just… normal people, trying to live their lives without…" Buffy watched Riley collapse in on himself. He was trembling.

Instinctively, Buffy reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. "What are you saying?" she murmured softly, her voice already carrying the dread.

Riley raised his head and stared straight into her eyes, a numb emptiness gazing at her through eyes she had once loved. "They made me shoot children, Buffy. The only thing that made them different from humans was that they were green and had spines. Retractable spines. They… they were… good. Good people. They had… a whole community going. They worked together and they shared stuff and the children were happy. And then we landed and we got our orders." His voice was hoarse, "Shoot. No survivors." He stared once more at his hands. "They weren't hurting anyone. They'd gone into the jungle so that they could be undisturbed, and so that people didn't need to accept their existence. And we went in… and we killed them… for no reason."

Buffy felt her throat close up. The idea of good demons traveled into her brain and cemented itself alongside the ideas she had been forming over the last few weeks. Good people can do bad things. Bad people can do good things. Souls don't count for much. Demons can be good. The sum of the parts was becoming something greater than she could comprehend. Good? Evil? Did they even really mean anything at all? Maybe only actions could be classified as good or evil. Maybe people just… were. The thought ate at her belly.

She leaned forward across the table and nudged Riley's downcast head with a free hand. "Thank you for telling me," she whispered. "Things are… I think they're starting to make sense. Somehow. This is another piece of the puzzle I'm trying to solve." She swallowed hard. "Thank you," she whispered again, letting her lips brush across his forehead.

In the second it took for Riley to realize what had happened, she was gone. She had done what she always did best when they were together, disappeared. She was an enigma or an untouchable mystery. Maybe that was what she always had been to him. The fleeting brush of her lips against his forehead lingered like a benediction.

Riley left Sunnydale that night. He never looked back, and he never returned. But when he thought about the Slayer, and the strange world of demons that he had once been part of with her, he smiled. Because something in her eyes told him that everything was about to change, and he had been a small part of that change. A change for the better.


End file.
